


The Silent Language of Grief, Book One

by water_4_willows



Series: Stargate Atlantis: Aftermath [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Death, Future Fic, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Original Character(s), Post Episode: s05e20 Enemy at the Gate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-03-03 17:20:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 26
Words: 198,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2858819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/water_4_willows/pseuds/water_4_willows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>20 years after the Wraith decimated Earth in The Great Culling, the SGC is once again ready to resume the Atlantis Expedition. Top brass wants only one man for the job, unfortunately for them John Sheppard has been MIA since the end of the War.  A slip-up reveals John's current location, but will he be able to forgive the ultimate betrayal and return? </p><p>AU, rated T for language. Mentions multiple major character deaths.</p><p>Title comes from a quote by Voltaire</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

What if...

Those are powerful words and ones capable of both changing the past for the better, and dooming it. Yet we humans throw this phrase around so casually.

What if...

They're frightening words too; for no matter how many times we utter them, they can never truly show us for certain what it was that could have been.

Or can they?

What if the Wraith transmission broadcasting the location of Earth had reached every Hive ship in the Pegasus Galaxy?

What if every last one of those Hive ships had set a course for Earth?

And what if John Sheppard had been the only one with the Ancient gene strong enough to fly Atlantis back to the Milky Way in time to try and stop the Wraith before they decimated the world?

This is a story of 'What if's' and I invite you to come with me on a journey to see what becomes of our intrepid Atlantis Expedition when they didn't get the happy ending they deserved, but were instead betrayed on the most reprehensible level and changed forever in the process.


	2. Prologue

_There's a sound leaves make when they're dead. It's a dry, brittle sound and John cringes every time he hears them skitter across the forest floor like rats._

_The buck he has caught in the cross-hairs of his scope dips its head to inspect the ground.  Brown leaves flit in the wind and he slides his finger around the trigger of his Remington in anticipation. The rifle sits heavy and snug against his shoulder and he keeps the deer in his sightline as it takes a few cautions steps further into the clearing._

_I_ _t's late November.  Winter winds whistle through the nearly naked trees and John fights back the urge to shiver from the rapidly dipping temperatures. The sun is disappearing behind the horizon to his right and taking with it all the warmth of the day.  He knows it won't be long before Eddie (the only reason he's even out here today) leans over and suggests they call it a day._

_The long empty branches of the trees play in the diminishing light and cast strange, claw like shadows across the clearing each time they move in the wind.  John tries not to let the dancing light distract him. He can feel Eddie watching him closely as he takes aim.  Even the air in the blind goes still as the forest quiets around them in anticipation of what he's about to do.  A_ _nd even thought the temperature is well on its way to dipping below freezing, John feels a cold sweat prickle up on his brow unannounced as he shifts ever so slightly._

_This is how it always starts - every damn time - and he wills his trigger finger to squeeze before he loses his nerve completely._

_But it's no use._

_The tremor starts at his very center and radiates outward until the gun he has clenched in his white knuckled grip is practically rattling. The buck, sensing the rising anxiety even from its place across the clearing, snaps it's head up in John's direction.  It p_ _ricks up its ears and their sightlines converge in the center of the space dividing them.  John pulls in an involuntary breath and the memories he knew would be coming crash into the side of him like an unexpected stunner blast. Faces and places leap to the forefront of his mind and he squeezes his eyes shut against the onslaught of unwanted memory._

_They come so fast sometimes and he has no defense against them whatsoever.  Sometimes he even thinks he lets them come because there are just some things you should never forget._

_In the clammy, disjointed moments of adrenalin fueled memory John knows he won't be able to do it.  Won't be able to pull the trigger and end the buck's life because all he can do now is remember how it felt to hold that P90 in his hands. How the kickback absorbed into the flesh of his shoulder - just as the rifle will - as he blasted semi-automatic weapons fire in every direction... or of how it was never, ever enough to save them..._

_John lowers the barrel of his gun in defeat and lets his head rest against the roughhewn boards of their crudely constructed shelter.  The strangled cry he lets slip is loud enough to spook the deer and send it crashing back under the cover of the trees. In the silence that follows Eddie has the good sense not to say anything, but John can feel his friend's eyes burning a hole in the center of his back and his face burns with the heat of embarrassment._

_He hadn't meant to cry out this time._

_It always happens this way and sometimes John can't help but wonder why the hell he lets Eddie drag him to this clearing over and over again._

_"..._ 'Cause you've got the best hunting real estate in town, Sheppard _," he reminds himself and distracts his quaking hands with gathering up the rest of his gear._

_Eddie keeps his eyes on him the entire time. The man hasn't asked about his inability to fire the rifle just yet but John suspects the question will come someday soon. He's known Eddie Nostrand for over 10 years now but has only been hunting with him for 2 seasons.  Still, he's surprised the guy has held off asking for this long._

_Eddie is the closest thing John has to a friend in this backwoods little river town, and the man knows almost nothing about him. It's a consequence of the life he's lead, he supposes, and wonders if Eddie would believe half the stories John could tell him about the things he's seen. He doubts there's anyone left anymore who would care if he spilled a classified secret or two to this former farmer with nothing more than the high school GED he earned in those carefree days before Earth went to hell in a hand basket... but he knows he won't even though the idea is enticing. He's Air Force (even if he left the service over 18 years ago) and a soldier to the end so he'll honor the oaths that he's taken._

_The air in the blind is thick with intent and he prays that today isn't the day Eddie will ask his questions. To escape the encroaching claustrophobia and the answers he knows he can't give, John hops down from the blind without using the ladder and falls the few feet to the ground. The maneuver earns him a twinge of pain from his left knee - the one that never fully recovered - and bends down to sweep away the sawdust and dirt that has gathered on the knees of his camouflage pants to hide his grimace. He realizes suddenly that they're the pants from his BDUs and that he put them on this morning without even thinking of it... like he knew subconsciously how this day was going to end. That thought has bile rising up into the back of his throat and he fights against the sudden urge to lose his meager lunch into the brown, dead grass near his feet. Eddie clears his throat from above and John only looks back up at his friend once he's sure he's wiped all traces of panic away from his face. Eddie is holding out one of the canvas bags they brought with them and John takes the gear without comment._

_Eddie, he realizes, reminds him a lot of an old friend he once had, though he won't let himself speak the name just yet. He's too exposed right now, too raw, and to put names to the faces he has running through his brain at high-speed and in high definition probably wouldn't be the best use of his time right now. He's teetering on the edge of a full blown panic attack as it is and he can't afford to lose it here in front of Eddie; not like this. Blue River Wisconsin is a small town and if he lets his demons out; if he folds in on himself and breaks, everyone is going to know about it and he'll have to move again, and he likes it here. He's got a friend, a home.  Hell, he's even got a girl and it's taken him a long time to find a place like this._

_Eddie is the embodiment of small town America and John gets why they're friends. The former farmer is tall and well built and prides himself on owning a different colored flannel shirt for every day of the year.  Not to mention the best bar in town. He's quiet, too which is why John thinks he lets this friendship continue. Internal and introspective, Eddie would rather mull things over quietly inside than ask questions, and that kind of friend is a hot commodity in John's world these days._

_Eddie finishes handing John their supplies then jumps down from the blind to land on the ground beside John with a thud.  They make their way across the crunchy, frozen earth and towards the promised warmth of John's '67 Ford in silence. It's going to be dark soon and John is eager to get back to the truck and fire up its ancient engine to unthaw his frozen hands. They ache, and it's not just because of the cold.  The sense memory of that P90 still lingers and he flexes his fingers, trying to will the unbidden memories away even as they continue to batter against the shields he's just barely managed to put up._

_This whole hunting thing is torture and he's not really sure why he puts himself through it. He thinks that maybe it's because he's been chasing normal across the United States for 20 years and Eddie and the blind he's just left, offer something that looks a little like it._

_"Hey," Eddie says, breaking their silence, "Carrie wanted me to talk you into coming down to the bar tonight for dinner. Will ya?"_

_They near the tired old '67 Ford pickup he's been restoring on and off again for the past 7 years and John throws his rucksack into the back of the bed before answering. If he feigns exhaustion like he wants to and bows out of dinner Carrie will swing by his place later tonight after her shift to bring him something to eat anyway. And as much as he enjoys that woman's company (and her cooking) he's going to need to be alone tonight with the nightmares that will inevitably plague his dreams. He reluctantly agrees to come and Eddie studies him for a second before nodding and pulling himself up into the cab of the truck and into the passenger seat. The screech of the rusted metal door echoes around the skeletal trees and John shudders._

_He gets in behind the wheel of the Ford, rumbles the old girl to life, then speeds the truck off in the direction of town leaving a cloud of cold frozen dust and unwanted memories behind in his wake._


	3. The Times Before

Major Scott Bradshaw had been a New Yorker his entire life. He figured it was due to something ingrained in his very genetic makeup because ever since his ancestors had crossed the Atlantic and settled in the tenement buildings of New York City's Lower East Side, the Bradshaw family had existed in the Big Apple in one form or another ever since. Scott himself had grown up in Greenwich village with a hippie mother who had been more interested in her art than anything to do with her illegitimate son so he had gotten his education about the world from the string of movers and shakers (as his mother liked to call them) that streamed through their tiny apartment above the bakery on Cornelia Street. He didn't resent his mother for the way she'd raised him or anything. In fact, he kind of thanked her for it. He'd grown up in the company of bohemians who had never let him be anything short of extraordinary, though he knew none of them had been very proud of the fact that he'd chosen to go into the military. But that fact didn't matter much anymore. Anyone he'd ever known from that time was either dead or long gone now and Greenwich Village was nothing more than a burnt out shell of her former self.

Memories of those times before still ached, even after all these years and, shaking himself apart from them, Major Bradshaw turned his head to stare out the window of the tiny little Toyota Prius he was stuffed into and tried to find a better position for his cramping legs. He missed the days of huge, gas guzzling humvees with enough room to fit half a dozen or so well armed soldiers, but those days were long gone and not likely to ever return. Yet, cramped as he was in the small space of the car, there was something peaceful about the rolling hills and quiet farmland flashing past his window as they sped down I-94 and through the quaint Wisconsin countryside. Being out in these more rural areas, it was almost possible imagine that the War had never happened; that when he got back to New York his city would be like he remembered it from before and he would be able to walk down Cornelia Street and see it restored to its former glory.

The small communities out in these more rural parts had been damn lucky and Bradshaw kind of hated them a little for it. Some of them hadn't even been touched by The Great Culling and he envied the families here that hadn't had to experience the pain of losing everything they loved. And yet, even though he half resented it, the rolling countryside outside his window _was_ a bit of a welcomed respite from the angry gray of NYC and the Major couldn't help the shudder that overtook his shoulders when he thought about her now thronging dirty streets filled to the brim with the ragged remains of all that was left of the United States' population.

It had been 18 years since the great Wraith War destroyed nearly a quarter of the planet's population and even though the world was still in the process of rebuilding itself and limping towards recovery, most people still preferred to stick to the cities. No one had made a conscious decision to do it or anything, but the surviving members of the human race had flocked to the tall spires of the Manhattan skyline when the devastation had finally ended and before anyone realized that it had happened, a new capital city had been born.

Most of the other major cities across the country had become Mecca's for the lost and displaced, but none so more than New York City. Congress and the President had relocated there after DC had burned to the ground; the branches of the military that had joined forces to create the United States Strategic Force were headquartered there, and Major Bradshaw had a feeling the civilians that had flocked to NCY did so for the same reasons they all had: to remind themselves that they were not alone and to try and cling to the past. So much had been lost in those days following the Wraith's arrival on Earth and even though that threat had long ago been destroyed, people seemed to prefer to stay close to one another.

Tired of dwelling on past events he had no control over, Bradshaw pulled his focus away from the countryside outside his window and went back to studying the heavily redacted file he had flipped open across his lap. The man who stared back up at him from the 8x10 glossy was a living legend and Bradshaw could barely believe that in little over an hour he would meet the guy in person. He was an hour and a half into the three hour trek to the tiny town the former Colonel had sequestered himself in and he had to admit, he was getting pretty excited. The man he had been tasked with finding was a big deal; he'd single handedly won the War against the Wraith, if the legends were to be believed, and in a few hours time, Bradshaw would be standing in the man's living room trying to talk him into coming out of retirement.

Bradshaw had been on this particular detail for a while now. The United States Strategic Force (or USSF as they called themselves since there was no one left on the United States Soccer Federation to care about the hijacked acronym) had made it his job to track down former members of the armed forces and try to talk them into reenlisting. The government that had been in shambles after The Great Culling was finally pulling itself back together and they needed men to fill the ranks of the Strategic Force to help build back up the country's defenses. America wasn't the only nation that had been hit hard by the Wraith - no one had been spared the horrors of The Great Culling - but the people of Earth were starting to wake up again and remember who they once were, and that meant the bad ones, too. Unfriendly eyes were once again looking westward and the Wraith had decimated people, not their ideals... or their weapons for that matter.

The man Bradshaw was headed out to see had taken great pains not to be found and it was only by chance that the Major had tracked him down in the first place. His picture had shown up on the internet of all places and Bradshaw's facial recognition software had happily informed him one rainy afternoon in the office that person #1 on the USSF's most desired list had been found in some back woods country town in central most Wisconsin. The Colonel, he had learned, had dropped off the face of the earth right after the War and had apparently settled in a small town a few states away but Bradshaw was having mixed feelings about where he was now headed. Part of him was beyond ecstatic at the thought of meeting the legend himself, but he'd been doing this job for a while now and knew there was no telling how the Colonel would react to him showing up at his door unannounced. There just wasn't any delicate way to do this and Bradshaw had been fairly certain that, had he given the Colonel the heads up he was on the way, the man would have disappeared again, and there were people - very important and influential people - expecting him not to fail at this.

As per protocol, Bradshaw was clad in his best dress uniform and everything was freshly laundered and absolutely spotless. The Colonel wouldn't recognize the uniform or the new insignia that adorned it, he'd left the service before the branches coalesced to form the new Strategic Force, and Bradshaw wondered what the Colonel would make of him. He never knew what he was getting himself into when he approached these men from the times before and Bradshaw had been chased off his fair share of porches with shotgun blasts licking at his heels; but failure on this mission was not an option. There was a lot riding on this acquisition, and not just because of the fact that the former Colonel was a living military legend or that he would be a huge asset to the budding USSF. There were other reasons, top secret reasons Bradshaw wasn't privy to, and while his superiors had not seen it fit to read him in on everything, he knew it had a lot to do with the Wraith War and why the Colonel had been such an integral part in ending it. Still, Bradshaw couldn't help but wonder what it was that had driven the Colonel from the Air Force he so obviously loved and into such a small backwater town like Blue River, Wisconsin... or into a house next to a river at the end of a dirt road that hadn't even been named _before_ the Wraith War. There were holes in the Colonel's history that no written service record could fill in and Bradshaw just hoped he had enough of the man figured out to pull this off.

Blue River Wisconsin was populated by exactly 438 people according to the pathetically executed 2020 census; though only 437 names appeared on the official lists. It was big enough for a bank, a few restaurants and a handful of churches, but its residents were mostly farmers who's rural locations had saved them from the nightmare of The Great Culling. The town was located just south of the Wisconsin River and about 3 hours outside of Milwaukee and Bradshaw had been lucky enough to catch a flight into the city's recently reopened airport just a few short hours ago. Competent pilots were still in short supply but he would have flown with an elderly Howard Hughes if it meant he didn't have to drive the 1,003 miles from New York City to Blue River, Wisconsin. Three hours in the tiny little Prius the USSF had commandeered for him was enough and when the sign for Blue River finally appeared alongside the highway they were traveling, Bradshaw nearly cheered.

Turning right onto Martha Street from Hwy 133 a few blocks past the town's only fuel station, Bradshaw directed the driver towards Smith Street and the little dirt road turn off he knew the Colonel's house sat at the end of several miles outside of town. It was remote and nestled along the banks of the Lower Wisconsin River, but Barnes had studied his satellite images closely and knew exactly where to go.

The meteorologists back in New York were predicting one of the coldest winter's on record but Jack Frost had apparently visited Blue River, Wisconsin ahead of schedule. The temperatures here had plunged well below freezing and while the Prius he rode in was small and cramped, it was well heated and he cringed at the thought of having to leave the warm confines of the little car when they finally reached their destination. A light dusting of powdery white snow covered most of the ground and the wind kicked up little tornadoes of it every so often as they made their way towards the Colonel's house. It was picturesque almost but he didn't have much time to admire it because a few minutes later his driver turned onto the little dirt road they were looking for and the car made its labored way down a primitive avenue that was little more than two worn trenches excavated from flash frozen mud. The suspension of the hybrid was taking a beating as they rocked across the frozen ground, but eventually the car broke through the thick tree line and Scott Bradshaw got his first good look at the former Colonel's home.

The old log cabin was tucked back along the banks of the Wisconsin River and it was obvious that the Colonel had put a lot of time and effort into making it habitable again. Even under the bleakness of winter's grey and brown mantle the cabin was quaint, from the smoke that curled idly away from its chimney in thin little wisps, down to the handmade porch swing that swung lazily in a stiff northerly breeze that whipped around everything on the property like it was angry about something. Bradshaw unfolded himself from the passenger seat of the Prius, stretched his tingling limbs a bit, then motioned to his driver to stay put while he did his initial cursory sweep of the grounds.

Some of the more stubborn leaves in the trees around the house that had refused to drop to the ground like their brothers greeted Bradshaw with a shiver of dried rattling as he carefully made his way towards the front of the cabin. The ground was frozen but choked with bits of the encroaching wilderness and Bradshaw had to pick his way cautiously over to the path leading up to the front of the house. The cabin's small windows were dark and there was no vehicle parked in the turnabout but that didn't mean anything. The Colonel had been well trained during his time in the Air Force and had spent the past 18 years living off the grid, so nothing about this was going to be normal; or easy for that matter. Yet even without any obvious threat of danger looming, Bradshaw still grazed his hand over the sidearm hidden discreetly under his jacket and breathed a slight sigh of relief when he felt it's unyielding shape beneath his hand. He didn't think he would have to draw it at all, but it was comforting to know the Beretta was still there in its holster should he need it.

Major Bradshaw did a quick sweep of the clearing with his eyes and caught sight of the ice choked Wisconsin River struggling along behind the house and a dilapidated old storage shed sitting forlornly off to one side of the cabin. There were no other structures on the property that he could see and no indication that anyone was at home but he still found himself walking up the path leading to the front porch vigilantly. It was quiet out here and he could see the appeal of living in such a place after a lifetime of battle, but knew he would never end up in a place like this like the former Colonel had. The pulse of New York pounded itself out too thoroughly in his veins for him to ever find peace anywhere other than her gray city streets.

Bradshaw climbed the stairs up onto the front porch then pulled open a creaky old storm door before landing a few hard knocks to the main front door. He could hear the sound his knuckles made on the wood echo around the cavernous room beyond and he peered through a little window carved into the door about head high to try and see if he could spot the Colonel inside. He cupped his hands around his eyes to try and see better but there didn't appear to be anyone at home and he'd seen his fair share of empty houses to know it was no use. The inside of the cabin was sparsely furnished with a few ratty high-backed chairs circled around a smoldering fireplace but little else and he pulled away from the window to knock again just be sure. He gave it a few minutes and even tried jiggling the doorknob, but the cabin was shut up tight and he let the storm door snap shut behind him as he headed back to the car.

"No luck, sir?" The driver asked when he folded himself back into the Prius and he shook his head as he closed the door against the frigid November wind and warmed his hands against the dashboard heaters.

"No one's home," he answered, a little pissed that he was going to have to try and track his target down. He hadn't made any arrangements to stay the night and he was pretty sure Blue River, Wisconsin wasn't the kind of place that would have the accommodations he was used to. "Let's go back into town and try there."

The trip back into Blue River was just as bumpy as the trip out and by the time the car finally pulled back onto blacktop headed towards the town's main downtown area, Bradshaw's bladder was screaming at him. They hadn't made any stops on the drive from Milwaukee and he was desperate to take a leak so he ordered the driver to park on Main Street under The Grumpy Girl bar's gaudy Pabst Blue Ribbon sign and made a mad dash for the restrooms. Blue River was a lot like other small towns he'd visited in the times before the War and he almost would have smiled at her rustically faded brick storefronts and Americana style main street had his bladder not been about to explode.

Bradshaw had forgotten about being in full dress uniform, and the bar's patrons stared at him with varying degrees of shock and disbelief when he emerged from the men's room a few minutes later still zipping up his fly.

The Grumpy Girl was a dive bar to say the least. The interior was covered from floor to ceiling in unattractive knotty pine and two massive deer antler chandeliers hung low from the ceiling to barely illuminate the room with dark muddy light that didn't even reach the farthest most corners. There were seven patrons in the bar at the moment and one of them had stopped talking mid-conversation with the bartender and was starting over at him with mouth agape and something that looked a bit like anger flashing behind his eyes.

Former Colonel John Sheppard was heavily bearded and dressed head to toe in hunting regalia, but there was no mistaking the man sitting at the bar. Bradshaw let a smile take over his face, happy at his good fortune for having found Sheppard so easily, and took a step forward to greet the man of legend.

He didn't get very far, though. The bartender who Sheppard had been talking to rounded the end of the bar and placed himself between Bradshaw and the man he'd been looking for with arms crossed and eyed narrowed. The guy was tall and trying to appear menacing, but it was hard to take the camouflaged hat with CHEERS! embroidered across its face in gold lettering, or the 'Yes, I shit in the woods' t-shirt he was sporting, very seriously. Bradshaw looked the man in the eye and put on the best diplomatic smile he could muster.

"Something I can help you with, son?" The man asked friendly enough, but Major Bradshaw could feel the tension in the room tick up a notch. This was not the reception he'd hoped for.

"I was just hoping to have a quick word with the gentlemen at the bar, Sir," he replied, pointing in the former Colonel's direction, hoping to catch Sheppard's eye. But he had turned back around to face the bar and was hastily draining a beer.

"I'm Major Scott Bradshaw, Unites States Strategic Force." The bartender eyed him suspiciously for a second or two but eventually wiped his hand on the filthy towel slung over his shoulder took the hand Bradshaw held out to him. Maybe it was a good sign.

"Eddie Nostrand," the bartender offered back. "Nice to meet you Major. Now, what can I do you for?"

"Well," Bradshaw started, still trying to get a read on the situation and a little irritated that Sheppard was continuing to ignore him. "How about a beer? What've you got on tap?" He made a move to step around the man blocking his way and head for the seat next to Sheppard at the bar but Nostrand blocked his maneuver with a quick sidestep that had Bradshaw stopping short and swallowing down a wave of exasperation. Where was that damn driver? He needed some backup.

"Look Mr. Nostrand, I just need a few minutes of Colonel Sheppard's time then I swear I'll get out of your hair," he pleaded a little, trying to keep the mood as friendly and light as possible. It wasn't his job to force the Colonel into anything; just to give him a few good reasons to think about coming back and a reminder of what he had left.

Eddie Nostrand sniffed nonchalantly. "No 'Colonel Sheppard's' here," he said. "Maybe try the next town over?"

Bradshaw glanced over the bartender's shoulder and back at Sheppard who was staring resolutely at the TV suspended behind the bar, pretending not to notice what was going on a few feet behind him. The bartender was obviously Sheppard's friend and running defense for him, but this was the kind of pushback Bradshaw had been trained to deal with. He was obviously not going to get to Sheppard by being discreet so he straightened himself up to full height with all the military bravado he could muster and prepared to appeal to the bartender's sense of duty.

But the maneuver was a mistake.

Several angry chairs scraped across the hardwood floor of the bar as the six other patrons leapt from their seats and slowly started to surround him. The sudden change in mood was abrupt and Bradshaw found himself at a loss for words as the bulky men advanced and started herding him in the direction of the exit. But what really stunned him was the open hostility he saw painted on each man's face as they moved and Bradshaw, pretty sure he was about to get his ass handed to him, did the only thing he could think of.

"Colonel John Sheppard, please!" He called out loudly and everything went quiet in an instant. A hand that had reached out to grab him by the arm snapped away, Sheppard's head fell forward, and for several agonizing seconds, no one said a thing. Bradshaw could tell he had done something wrong just by the way the Colonel's shoulders shook and the awed state of shock that had fallen over the men surrounding him. This was not at all how he had wanted this to go.

"Sir, please," he implored again, shouldering through the circle of dumbfounded men and wishing he understood what it was he had just done. No one tried to stop him this time. "You're country needs you. I've been sent by General Landry to..."

"...Landry's dead," growled the hunched figure at the bar, interrupting him, and Bradshaw stopped moving forward.

"It's Hank Landry, Jr., sir... General Henry Landry's nephew. He's requested your presence in New York personally." Bradshaw blurted as quickly as he could now that Sheppard was finally addressing him. He didn't know how long he had before the shocked men behind him recovered and threw him out of the bar completely.

"I've been told it's about Atlantis, Sir." This last part he said quietly but it was enough burst everything back open again.

Sheppard was up and out of his seat in the blink of an eye and Bradshaw flinched back involuntarily before recovering just in time to waive off the advancing Corporal coming to his aid. The driver had finally made his way into the bar and Bradshaw was relieved to have some backup at last but he didn't want the kid making the situation any worse than it already was.

Sheppard crowded into his personal space with anger coloring his bearded face crimson and Bradshaw put his hands up in surrender. Mentioning Atlantis had been the catalyst for all of this and he cursed his bosses for sending him into this mess with so little information.

"I'm not here to cause you any trouble, Colonel" he promised as earnestly as he was able to and as much for Sheppard's benefit as for the bar patrons who were still circling and ready to pounce. "I just need a few minutes of your time."

"How the hell did you even find me?" Sheppard demanded angrily and Bradshaw figured that honesty was probably the best policy since this all of this was already going so well.

"Eagle Cave, Sir. They put a photo of you up on their website."

The Major watched Sheppard almost smile at that.

Eagle Cave was located just outside of town and was the largest Onyx cave in Wisconsin. Before the War it had been a popular destination for Boy Scout camping trips since the owners of the cave actually let the kids sleep in the caverns hidden deep underground. Sheppard had taken a job there as a guide under an assumed name and in an effort to reestablish it's patronage, the company that owned the cave had re-launched its website a few months ago, adding photos of some of their more popular guides to the page to try and draw back in the crowds. Bradshaw had looked through those headshots and read up on the cave before heading out to Blue River... and even he had to admit the place sounded cool. There were pictures up from the times before too and staring at those smiling faces from the past had stirred something in him. He had been expecting to come to this sleepy little river hamlet and to find it unchanged, but things here were as different as they were in the rest of the world and Bradshaw knew whatever it was he was looking for in his life, he wasn't going to find it here in Blue River, Wisconsin.

"Why are you here?" Sheppard snapped, any hint of his almost smile long gone.

"I'm with the USSF, Sir. We're the new..."

"I know what the USSF is, kid. That's not what I asked you. What the fuck are you doing here?" The former Colonel interrupted and Bradshaw tried not to get flustered at the profanity or being called 'kid'. He wasn't going to get anywhere with this man by being bureaucratic, he could clearly see that now, so he relaxed his stance as best he could and tried a different approach.

"Look, is there maybe somewhere a little more private we could go to talk?" Bradshaw suggested but Sheppard was already shaking his head.

"No dice, kid. You get five minutes, so I suggest you make 'em count."

The group of men that had been hovering nearby during their discussion finally dispersed then and Sheppard walked across the bar to take a seat at one of the tables near a worn down old pool table towards the back of the room. Bradshaw stood for a moment more in the center of the room wary of the direction things had gone but, figuring he would get no better chance than this to plead his case to Sheppard, took the chair the man kicked out for him from under the table with a foot. The chair scraped loudly across the floor and vibrated the floorboards under his feet but he sat down all the same and set his hat on the table top.

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather go someplace more private?" He tried again once he'd situated himself in the uncomfortable chair as best he could. "Some of what I have to say to you is still technically classified."

"Guess that's your problem then, huh kid? Those rules don't exactly apply to me anymore, as you can probably see." Sheppard mocked, gesturing towards his hunting outfit. It didn't escape Bradshaw's notice that the former Colonel was wearing the old Air Force BDU pants, but now was probably not the best time to bring that up and piss Sheppard off any more than he already was.

"Hey, Eddie! Can my new friend and I get a couple-a beers over here?" Sheppard called across the bar and Bradshaw bit his tongue against the declination that rose out of him almost automatically. He was as far away from civilization as he could get and there was no way his superiors would ever find out that he had a drink while on duty, but then he thought about who the man sitting in front of him was and knew he wouldn't touch a drop of whatever it was that was put down in front of him. The Grumpy Girl being the fine establishment that it was, that turned out to be a lukewarm can of Busch Light beer which he determinedly ignored even as Sheppard cracked his own open and started nursing it steadily.

"You're five minutes are ticking away here, son. Maybe you should get to the talking." Sheppard suggested sarcastically and Bradshaw pulled his eyes up from his unopened beer to get his first unencumbered look at the former Air Force Colonel.

The table they sat at was lined with a vinyl table cloth covered in the most hideous pattern imaginable but they were directly under a small overhead light and Bradshaw was finally able to get a descent look at the legendary John Sheppard. There were subtle differences between the man sitting in front of him and the man in the photo tucked away in the file in his car, but John Sheppard really hadn't changed all that much over the years. His hair was mostly gray now and the lines around his eyes were deeper, but those eyes still held all the mischief and intelligence his service record hinted at and Bradshaw couldn't help but think that, in another life, he could have been friends with this man.

Sheppard was waiting for him to begin with a look of amused bewilderment on his face as he drummed his fingers against the table top and Bradshaw cleared his throat, unsure of where to begin. With the overhead light burning hot above his head he got the sudden feeling he was in an interrogation... but that he wasn't the one who was doing the questioning. He could tell by the smug way the side of Sheppard's mouth cocked upwards that the former Colonel had planned it that way and he tried to ignore the little hitch of irritation that climbed up the back of his spine. It didn't matter, he reminded himself. He would say his piece, see if he could convince Sheppard to come back with them, and then limp back to New York with his tail tucked between his legs if he failed. Besides, he got the distinct impression that it was going to take a lot more than some USSF Major the Colonel had never met before to convince this man to do anything.

Painfully aware that anything he was going to say was going to be met with derision, Bradshaw pulled in a deep breath and just went for it.

"I didn't mean to come here and start any trouble for you, Sir," he started, trying to convey with his eyes that the platitude was indeed genuine, but Sheppard's face remained a mask of indifference so he continued.

"As you've obviously heard, the branches of the former US Military have joined forces to create the new Unites States Strategic Force and well, even after combining our numbers we are still woefully understaffed. My position within the USSF was created to track down some of the former military's best and brightest that left the service after the War and see if they'd be willing to rejoin our ranks and help us to protect the country. Your name came up as someone the USSF was particularly interested in locating for this very reason and I was asked to come here today and see if you would be willing to come back and rejoin the SGC.

Sir, we're finally starting to get everything back to the way it was before the Wraith War and some of the more top secret programs are finally starting to get back up on their feet. I'm not privy to all the details myself, but I was instructed to tell you that one of the projects is the Stargate Program and that there are a lot of very important people at the SGC and IOA who want you to come back and helm a project associated with it.

Now, I know you've been off the grid for several years and that the last thing you expected to see today was some kid in a uniform showing up at your door to shove bullshit down your throat, but I've seen firsthand the progress the USSF is making in getting our country back on track. And the only way we're going to pull this off successfully, and not make any of the mistakes of the past, is if we have direction from the men and women who made this country great in the first place. So, to be perfectly honest with you Sir, I'm here today to appeal to your sense of honor and loyalty and ask that you please come back and help us. Help us rebuild this world into something greater than any of us ever imagined.

I don't know if you're aware of this or not, Colonel Sheppard, but you're something of a legend at the USSF and my superiors and I can think of no better person in the world to help us rebuild then you. So, by special permission from the President of the United States himself, the USSF would like to officially offer you reinstatement and a promotion to the rank of Brigadier General of the United States Strategic Force."

He'd gotten preachy in parts like he usually tended to do, but Sheppard was studying him seriously and for the first time since Bradshaw had stepped into The Crabby Girl, he felt like maybe the tide had turned.

"Let me ask you something Major..." Sheppard stopped, clearly unable to remember his name.

"Bradshaw, Sir. Major Scott Bradshaw."

"Right. Ok then Major Bradshaw, did you fight in the Wraith War?"

"No, Sir," he answered honestly, used to this line of questioning. This wasn't his first rodeo, he wanted to tell Sheppard, but didn't say it.

"I didn't think so. Any combat experience at all?"

"Yes sir. Afghanistan. Two tours." He answered proudly and puffed out his chest without thinking. This was the part of the conversation he liked best; when the person he was trying to get to rejoin tried to tell him he had no business talking them into coming back when he himself had never seen combat. Revealing that he had indeed served, and in one of the biggest conflicts before the Wraith War, was the moment he shut down the best argument they usually had but Sheppard continued on like he barely even registered what Bradshaw had just said.

"See anyone die over there, Major?"

Bradshaw swallowed thickly. "Yes." He'd seen his fair share to be sure.

"And of those people you saw die, were any of them your fellow soldiers?"

"Yes." But those memories were ones he'd buried deep and would rather not have dredged up.

"How about innocent civilians? See any of them get killed?"

"I did, Sir. Yes." He replied warily, wanting to know where Sheppard was headed with this but unable to read anything in the way the former Colonel was looking at him.

"Alright, now answer this one honestly Bradshaw. Of those people you saw die, at any time did your superior officers order you to kill them?"

"Sir?"

"Simple question, Major. At any time when you were over in Afghanistan, did your superior officers order you to kill any of your fellow soldiers or innocent civilians?"

"No!" He answered back angrily, pissed that the man sitting in front of him could even suggest such a thing.

"That's good, that's really good Bradshaw. I'm happy to hear it.

Now, you walk your sorry ass out of this bar, get into whatever car brought you here, and you go back to New York and tell those arrogant sons of bitches that John Sheppard said to FUCK OFF!" Sheppard pushed away from the table then and let his chair clatter backwards onto the floor behind him without bothering to right it again. He stalked off towards the exit and it took Bradshaw a few seconds to recover from what had just happened.

"Colonel Sheppard, wait!" He called out, half rising from his seat to follow after the man, but Sheppard rounded on him then with an expression on his face Bradshaw had never quiet seen on another person before. It was some kind of mixture of rage and hate and pure agony and the intensity of it was enough to push him bodily back down into his chair.

Sheppard, shaking slightly, had let his features turn murderous. "If you, or anyone else from the USSF ever comes near me again, I swear to God I will shoot you where you stand. That's a promise, kid. And you remind Richard Wolsey the next time you see him that I keep my promises; and that includes the one I made to him 18 years ago."

John Sheppard turned on his heels then and stormed out of the bar ignoring the stares of the other patrons and nearly running over the Bradshaw's driver who had been standing guard near the door. The bar was utterly silent and he could feel six pairs of angry eyes settle on him, but Bradshaw could have cared less. Gathering up his hat, he placed a few bills on the bar and apologized again to the bartender for any trouble he might have caused then walked back out into the bitter cold of the Wisconsin November night.

When he had left for Blue River this morning he had pictured this day going in a completely different direction. He'd known it wasn't going to be easy approaching John Sheppard when the man had so obviously taken great pains not to be found for so long, but nothing could have prepared him for what he had walked into. If Bradshaw was honest with himself, he'd admit that he'd seen this particular mission as nothing more than a meal ticket, a quick chance to climb the ranks of the USSF by brining in the one officer they'd been salivating over for years. But he was pretty sure all he'd managed to do was ruin a good man's life somehow.

There were always gossip, always rumors about the mistakes that had been made during the Wraith War but, like any good soldier, he hadn't let himself worry about things like that and had stayed content with his marching orders. But there were questions swirling around his brain now; questions he wasn't going to be able to ignore, and they perturbed him.

But what really bothered him were John Sheppard's last words to him in the bar. "... _you remind Richard Wolsey that I keep my promises_."

Yeah, when he got back to the office, his new boss had some explaining to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't forget to take a moment to leave me your thoughts on what you think so far! It takes moments :)


	4. An Abuse of Power

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some language in this chapter and a non-graphic adult situation... or two ;)

John didn't have any electricity up at the cabin. There was a generator out back that Carrie had insisted he buy in case of emergencies and so she wouldn't have to take cold showers in the mornings when she stayed over, but he'd never seen any need to retrofit his little haven for power. He had no phone, no computer anymore, and he rose each morning with the sun. It was a simple life, and one he didn't intend to complicate with something as fickle as power.

Power went out on you and couldn't always be relied upon. Power devoured and gave nothing back that he found valuable, so what was it's worth?

Besides, not having any electricity and being this far out of town meant he didn't often get visitors, though it was known to happen from time to time. Evidence of his most recent Unites States Strategic Force visitor was everywhere and he thought briefly about leaving the warmth of his chair to go and clean that bastard's palm prints off his window but decided against in the end. He was so pissed right now he was more liable to put his fist through the glass than clean it properly so he stayed where he was and poked at the fire instead. He had an impressive supply of firewood now and the piles of it took up half the wall to the right of the fireplace, but even splitting logs for two hours straight in the dark hadn't managed to calm him down at all. The events of the day were refusing to stop playing through his head and he couldn't shake the growing fear that he was going to have to leave all of this behind and move again.

He'd done everything he could think of to disappear and start a new life, taken every precaution, and just when he'd thought he'd done it, they'd found him again. Then to add insult to injury, they'd sent in some snot nosed, wet behind the ears kid with no security clearance to try and talk him into coming back. Wolsey probably knew if they had sent in anyone of consequence John would have shot them on sight, and Wolsey probably would have been right. They had no right, none whatsoever to track him down after all these years and expect him to just forgive and forget; especially not after what had gone down with those Wraith ships all those years ago.

John wasn't stupid, he knew the only reason he hadn't gotten a bullet in the head after he'd discovered what they'd done was because he was one of the only people left with the Ancient gene strong enough to fly Atlantis back home and he had a good idea now why they wanted him back. The government was rebuilding, getting its act together after almost twenty years of chaos, and now they wanted to restart the Stargate program. And who better to have at the helm than the one person on Earth who could power all the ancient tech with no effort whatsoever? But they had poisoned that well long ago and there was no coming back from that; not after what they had made him do.

Sometimes late at night - when he had nothing left to fight with against the dark dreams that reached out from the emptiness to choke him - he could hear them calling out to him: an infinite number of voices all joining together to beg him not to do it and he'd wake from those dreams with migraines so terrible he'd have to stay in bed for days. Carrie and Eddie knew about the headaches, but they were the only ones, and he wondered what he would do without those two when he left this place. Part of him wanted to stay, but deep down he knew he was a fool to ever think he could have had a normal life.

His life stopped being normal the day he walked through that Stargate and into Atlantis, and he lost his right to ever have it be normal again when he'd followed the orders of the people he was supposed to be able to trust.

John settled himself a little deeper down into his chair and tried to focus in on the peaceful quiet of the cabin around him and the happily crackling fire near his feet, but nothing he tried would chase away the bitter taste of betrayal that crawled up the back of his throat to take up residence on his tongue. He hadn't thought about these things in a long time and even his little cabin - his little escape in the woods - wasn't enough to ease the ache in his chest or chase away the memories that had been haunting him ever since the blind that afternoon.

So lost he was in his thoughts that he didn't even hear Carrie until she was knocking gently against his front door and letting herself in with her key. Winter smells followed her into the cabin on a breath of November wind but John kept his eyes forward and his focus on the firelight flickering before him. Carrie didn't say a word, probably guessing correctly that he wasn't in the mood to discuss what had happened just yet, and she locked the cabin door behind her before setting her things on his kitchen table and coming over to stand next to his chair and warm her hands by the fire.

Carrie Sinclair was a knockout, but she was the kind of attractive John had been into before his years on Atlantis, so he was a little surprised he was with her at all. She was slender yet curvy, with curly strawberry blond hair she wore past her shoulders and didn't even have to dye. She was certainly the tallest woman he'd ever been with and had a good few inches on him, but she was a fantastic cook, half his age, and one hell of a lover. She worked as a waitress at The Tamed Tiger, a small dinner/liquor store in town and moonlighted occasionally at Eddie's bar when he was off on a hunting trip or visiting some of his surviving family near Chicago; and he'd met her while volunteering as a firefighter at the local station in Blue River.

After the Wraith War a lot of things had changed, people included, and he'd found Blue River to be a place where the people had changed for the better. They were kind and welcoming and didn't ask any questions about why he was alone, what he'd done during the War or why he'd shown up in their small little town with no money and nothing more than the clothes on his back and a military issue duffel bag slung over his shoulder and filled with all that was left of his former life. It wasn't much and most of what he had saved was tucked away under the floorboards of his bedroom upstairs now for no one to see but him. They were pictures mostly; some flash drives with enough leverage to hopefully keep him alive once news reached New York that he'd... respectfully declined the USSF's offer to come back, and a few other things he didn't care to think on at the moment. He'd never been what you'd call a sentimental man, but there were some things he just hadn't been able to leave behind.

Even though he'd shown up in Blue River with nothing to his name, the town had taken him in gladly and the fire chief at the time (who happened to be Eddie) hadn't even asked for ID when he'd taken John on as a volunteer firefighter. He'd met Carrie shortly thereafter when he helped put out a fire started in the trashcans behind her restaurant. After the war was over, the country had been in chaos. The population had been decimated and people were angry and uncertain about the future and some had decided the best way to deal with that anger and uncertainty was to roam the countryside in small unorganized gangs causing trouble for good folk who were just trying to put their lives back together after all the devastation. Blue River had been lucky; all the group that had come through their town had done was inflict a little property damage before moving on, and John thought he could understand the behavior a little. But the United States needed to get its act together if it was going to survive and thankfully it had done just that. It had taken nearly 20 years, but even John had to admit things were headed in the right direction.

"So, Eddie told me about what happened at the bar tonight." Carrie carefully interrupted his thoughts with that beguiling voice of hers and he finally raised his head to look up and over at her. She had her hair pulled back the way she knew he liked and he managed to pull a small smile from somewhere inside.

"Oh yeah?" It was non committal and obviously not the response she'd been hoping for but Carrie thankfully didn't push him further and took a seat in the chair beside him instead. Even though she was wearing one of her favorite sweaters, she shivered slightly and reached over to retrieve the poker from its place beside the fireplace.

"It's freezing in here," She chided almost like she blamed him for the cold snap they'd been experiencing and prodded at the logs with the poker until the flames licked higher. "Did you just light this?"

He nodded.

"How about the one upstairs? Did you get that one, too?"

"Not yet."

Carrie got up out of her chair with a nod and let cold fingertips graze against the top of John's arm as she passed on her way over to the pile of firewood along the wall. If she noticed the extra number of logs there she didn't say anything, just loaded a few of them up into her arms before disappearing up the stairs to light the fire in the bedroom up there. When she came back down a few minutes later, she wiped her hands against her jeans to get rid of the dirt then came back over to sit next to him again.

Lighting the fire upstairs meant she was intending to stay the night - it was kind of a ritual of theirs - and she gave him the obligatory few seconds of silence to voice any objections he might have to her staying, but John found himself keeping quiet. Even though he knew the kind of night he was going to have, he didn't know how much longer he was going to stay in Blue River and, hard as it was to admit, Carrie was the closest thing he'd come to companionship in a very long time, and he found himself craving her company. When he didn't say anything after a beat, she smiled then went back to watching the fire.

"You know," she sighed, folding one knee over the other and capturing a hand between her thighs, "you should really think about getting a couch for in here. Eileen just got one in at Broken Arrows yesterday. It's vintage. You should go over there tomorrow and take a look at it."

John raised an eyebrow at that. Interior decorating at the little cabin in the woods had always been a hot topic of contention between them.

"Sure, then I can go steal that coffee table Glenn and the boys use to play cards on in his backyard. I think it would go great with the curtains, don't you?" He joked and Carrie laughed a little.

"Oh, definitely," she answered back, but her reply dripped with sarcasm. The curtains on his windows were old bed sheets he'd converted himself and they were the only thing about his cabin that Carrie detested.

"How were things at the restaurant today?" John asked her next, eager to keep their conversation casual and his thoughts away from what had happened at Eddie's earlier in the evening. Carrie sighed and leaned back into her chair before launching into her story. The chair she was sitting in was her favorite and he could still remember the slivers of wood she'd pulled from his back after the thank you she'd given him right in the middle of the living room floor after he'd rearranged everything so her chair sat right next to his in the living room formation. John nearly blushed at the thought but Carrie thankfully didn't catch it in the flickering firelight.

"I had to call Isaiah again today to get Tony out of the restaurant. He came in half drunk out of his mind and scared the living shit out of some old couple passing through on their way to Madison. I really don't know what to do with that guy anymore."

"Want me to talk to him for you?" He asked. He'd 'talked' to people for her in the past but Carrie just shook her head with a smile.

"No, Isaiah threw him in the drunk tank again. He'll sober up and apologize to me tomorrow, just like he always does." The town drunk and Blue River's lone police officer could always be counted on for drama.

"He didn't try anything this time, did he?" John asked and Carrie sighed audibly.

"No, John, he didn't 'try anything'," she repeated and pinched the bridge of her nose like she sometimes did when she was angry with him. "And grabbing my ass once when he was three sheets to the wind does not mean he's going to try and assault me every time he sees me, Johnny Boy. You need to get over that." Johnny Boy was a nickname she only used on him when she was especially irritated and he couldn't help but smile.

"Can't help it. Gotta defend my lady's honor." He deadpanned then raised his eyebrows at her when her eyes snapped over in his direction. There was no anger there in her bluish green eyes, just mirth, and she let her head fall back a little as she laughed, the firelight glinting against the white of her throat. It was one of those full bodied laughs he couldn't get enough of too and she collapsed into a fit of laughter he almost joined in on.

Almost.

"You're 'lady'," she wheezed, wrapping arms around her middle until she could breathe properly again. "What is this, 1955?" He gave her a cocky half smile which she shook her head at then they both went back to watching the flames in companionable silence with only the occasional random chuckle.

If Carrie had been the kind of woman who'd needed constant conversation in her life, John would have never gotten involved with her. But as it was she understood the value of silence and that it was a currency John valued and traded in frequently. He'd spent his entire life before the War fighting against people who expected him to be open and easy with conversation and emotion so to have someone who seemed to understand how he worked was probably why he'd let this... 'thing' they had going on between them, continue. She kept things simple and John appreciated it.

"Have you eaten anything today?" Carrie asked after they had sat in silence for a while and John thought about lying to her. Food was the farthest thing from his mind right now, but he couldn't tell her about all that, not quite yet. "I brought you some of Mellie's meatloaf. Do you want me to fix you a plate?" John's ears perked up immediately at that and he looked over at Carrie who was smiling at him mischievously. She was fighting dirty tonight, knowing he'd never say no to Mellie's World Famous Meatloaf.

"That depends." He replied impishly. "Did you bring any ketchup?" There was only one thing in the world that could improve Mellie's World Favorite Meatloaf.

"Of course I did. What kind of a girlfriend would I be if I forgot the ketchup?" She laughed and got up from her chair to head back over to his kitchenette.

John watched her go with a somber look taking over his face and turned back to the fire to contemplate what she'd just said. They had never officially defined their relationship. Eddie had jokingly referred to them as 'friend's with benefits' once, but other than that, the conversation about what exactly they were to each other had never come up. And he was glad for that. Labeling a thing meant giving it a name, and giving it a name meant it existed and could be destroyed. A 'nothing' was not something anyone could take away from him and he'd made it a point to fill his world with 'nothings'. But Carrie was trying to change that on him all of a sudden and he didn't know what to make of it.

And just like that, her staying the night didn't seem like the best idea anymore, and he tried to think of the most delicate way to talk her into leaving.

No particular plan in mind, John pulled himself up from the warmth of his chair and made his way across the cabin's main room to come up behind Carrie and watch as she loaded meatloaf and mashed potatoes onto the only two plates he owed. They were mismatched and one of them she had brought over herself from the restaurant where she worked, but they got the job done so what did he care if they didn't even match? His entire kitchen was a mismatched hodgepodge of thrift store detritus and he preferred it that way. Nothing of value and nothing to get attached to, just like his life. And yet, as random as his belongings were, there were still hints of Carrie here and there about the cabin. There was evidence of her influence in the lace curtains covering the window above the large cast iron sink in the kitchen, hints of her in the silk flowers collecting dust in the vase at the center of his dining room table... whispers of her in the one or two photo frames that were the only things hanging from the exposed wood walls.

She was everywhere, he realized suddenly and instead of talking Carrie into heading home like he had planned, John found himself stepping forward to wrap his arms around her middle as she worked over the counter top. He should be pissed, and maybe somewhere down deep he was angry at this woman for worming her way into his life somehow, but instead of searching that anger out, he tickled the skin of her neck with his beard in the way he knew she said she hated but secretly loved. She shifted slightly in his arms then, but it was only so she could tilt her head and give him better access to the soft skin connecting neck to shoulder as she sighed. It was a heavy sigh and one that shuddered her entire frame and she lifted a clean hand to run it against the side of his face without comment as he kissed her skin gently.

He didn't often do this, touch her this way, and he knew he was taking more from their little... arrangement than she was getting. But John had spent so much of his life giving more than he had, that he couldn't apologize for this little abuse of his power over the woman he held in his arms. She was a warm, reassuring weight against him and John touched his forehead to the bare skin he'd just kissed. So much had happened that day and suddenly all he wanted to do was demolish the walls he'd built up around himself and tell her about everything, but that thought terrified him. He'd gone 18 years without having to release a single thing from the hornets' nest located just beneath his skin and close to his heart, and the thought of doing that with Carrie was both preposterous to him... and slightly tempting. It would be a relief to know that there was one other human being in the world who knew what he'd done and how he felt about it, how it kept him up at night or woke him from fitful sleep screaming, but he just couldn't.

Yet even with confliction flitting around his insides, John felt himself release a shudder against Carrie's back, one he hadn't intended to let loose, and she turned in his arms to wrap her own around his neck and pull him in even closer against her.

John Sheppard had shed his tears for the things he'd lost long ago - and bloodied his knuckles against his fair share of walls over the years - so he didn't cry or do much else but allow Carrie to hold him, but anyone who had known him before the Wraith War would have understood how monumental even this show of emotion was on his part. The world and its people had changed and for a long time John had thought he'd been exempt from all that, but even he was no match for what had transpired today and he found himself increasing his hold on Carrie like she was the only thing anchoring him to the earth anymore. She smelled like winter and the handmade soap her Aunt Eileen made to sell at her thrift shop in town and Carrie ran her hands through his hair and whispered gentle words in his ear he couldn't quite understand.

When they pulled apart a few moments later Carrie was the one with tears in her eyes and he reached out a hand to brush one away as it released from her lashes and rolled.

"I'm sorry, John." She whispered, taking his outstretched hand in her own and placing a feather light kiss to his palm.

"Oh, crap!" she exclaimed, recovering before he could even respond. "I got grease all over your shirt! Go change that and I'll finish getting dinner ready." She put a soft palm to the center of his chest then and made to push him away, but John wrapped his hand around her slender wrist and didn't let go.

She looked up at him then, full on and with nothing separating them for the first time in years, and even though something inside of him screamed to get the hell out of there, he found himself hanging on. John needed something, but he didn't know how to ask for it without seeming pathetic and weak, so he pulled her back in close, meatloaf smeared fingers and all, and kissed her before she could object.

Carrie stiffened in his arms at first, startled by the sudden change in course, but it didn't take long before she was melting back against him and deepening the kiss with a tremulous little release of breath.

It was a dance they had done for years and she wrapped her legs around his middle when he lifted her gently from the floor and held on tight as he walked them up the stairs, never breaking the kiss.

 

 

**SGASGASGASGASGASGASGASGASGASGASGASGASGASGASGASGASGASGA**

 

 

Mornings in John's little cabin in the woods were cold; especially in the little attic space he'd converted into a bedroom on the second floor when he'd gotten tired of having his bed down in the middle of the living room. The fire, no matter how much he fed it before dropping off to sleep, never lasted the entire night, and by morning the tiny bedroom at the top of the stairs could be counted on to be as frigid and as frozen as if it had no walls at all separating it from the outside. Luckily for John, he had a sensible... whatever Carrie was, and she'd bought him a down comforter so thick and warm, he figured it had taken, at least, an entire gaggle of geese just to fill it. Add that to the warmth two adult bodies tended to generate when together and John was feeling pretty damn comfortable when he cracked his eyes open to the thin easterly light of dawn the next morning.

Carrie was still asleep beside him, curled up next to him with every bit of her entwined with every bit of him and he didn't dare move for fear of waking her. She usually rose around the same time he did, but their... extracurricular activities the night before had been pretty exhausting so he couldn't fault her the need for extra sleep. Last night had even been enough to chase the nightmares away from his dreams and John had, for once, actually slept peacefully through the night. That happened so rarely anymore that, even though he knew it would probably wake her, John pulled Carrie in closer and kissed the top of her head just to relish the feel of her solid warmth against his side. She shifted onto her stomach a little, threw an arm across his chest in a more comfortable position and he could tell just by her breathing that she was no longer asleep.

"John?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you going to talk to me about what happened last night?" She asked quietly from under his chin. Her voice was still a little gravely from sleep and he ghosted his fingertips over the soft skin of her arm as he tried to decide how best to answer her.

"Why, was the sex not good?" He sidetracked playfully instead, expecting her to at least laugh a little, but she didn't.

"You know that's not what I mean."

John stayed silent.

"Who was that man who came to see you yesterday?"

Not really sure what Eddie had told Carrie about what had happened in the Crabby Girl last night, he answered cautiously. "He said he was a Major with the Strategic Force..."

"...that new group that's going to take the place of the Army and Navy now?"

"Yeah." He replied, a little surprised she had even heard of it. "How'd you know about that?"

"I do watch the news, John." She retorted a bit irritably but he knew she really hadn't taken what he'd said personally. "And some of us still have TVs, remember?"

"Oh yeah," he teased. "My nanny used to call those new-fangled contraptions 'Boob-tubes'."

"Kind of explains why you're so fascinated with mine." She teased back and it was John's turn to chuckle.

"Maybe."

"But seriously John, what did that man want with you?"

John let his hand fall away from her arm. "He said he had an offer for me." He answered shortly, not offering her any further details and she sat for a second as if waiting for him to continue. When he didn't she pushed on.

"Well, what kind of offer was it?"

He looked down at her then, a little surprised at her blatant disregard for how they normally handled things like this between them.

"You ask a lot of questions," he said quietly and Carrie tensed against him but didn't look up at him.

"Is it something you're thinking of accepting?" She pushed again but John didn't know how to answer. His mind screamed that NO, he would never in a million years ever entertain the idea of going back, but a little voice in the back of his mind, the one he thought he'd gotten rid of long ago, reminded him that maybe, this time, he wasn't going to have a choice. They'd found him once already, and the people who were looking for him were not going to stop just because he'd shot down their first attempt at bringing him in. His genetic makeup was too important, too unique, to just let it slip through their fingers.

The thing that had changed his life would likely be the thing that ended it.

"You know, you _can_ share things with me, John," Carrie was saying carefully. "It's not like I'm going to go and blab your business around town. I mean, who would I tell anyway? Eileen? She's 89 and practically deaf and everyone thinks she's senile anymore anyways. Besides, nothing you tell me could be any worse than some of the rumors that have been going around town about you."

"Rumors?" He repeated, intrigued and ignoring her plea for honesty to play on her gossipy streak instead. Carrie sighed and buried her face against his neck. "There are _rumors_ about me?"

"Blue River is full of farmers John," she said against his skin, pressing a kiss there, "what else have they got to do in their free time then sit around the Grumpy Girl and make up stories about the town recluse?"

"So I'm the town recluse now, too?" he laughed, amused with the label. "This just keeps getting better and better."

Carrie lifted her head then and rested her chin on the back of her hand to look over at him with a mischievous smile.

"Well, my personal favorite is Eileen's theory."

"Now this I gotta hear," John chortled.

Carrie flushed a little and wrinkled her nose just slightly like she always did when she got like this; as if showing her distaste for the gossip somehow made it okay to repeat. "She thinks you're some billionaire who lost his entire family in The Great Culling and decided to live a life of destitution because you saw losing your family as punishment from God for how you made your money."

"You're joking!" Eileen was Carrie's feisty elderly great aunt who owned Broken Arrows, Blue River's one and only thrift shop, and was probably the most interesting person John Sheppard had ever met. She was crotchety and the town gossip and had trained her only niece well.

Carrie shook her head. "No, I'm serious! Mind you, this was the theory she had way back when you first came to town so her opinion of you is a little different these days," Carrie smiled, giving him a coy wink.

"Anything else I should know about?" he asked amused and Carrie paused for a second to think.

"Well, Davie at the gas station used to think you were one of those escaped convicts they were talking about on the news after the War ended."

"Oh yeah?" He asked idly, reaching out to twirl a bit of hair that had fallen down around Carrie's shoulder with his finger. "How'd he come up with that one?"

"Davie told me you signed an invoice one time with John Sheppard instead of John Evans," she answered a little cautiously and he let the lock of hair he'd been idly playing with fall back against her skin. "He figured if you needed to change your name then maybe you were on the run from the law or something."

"Huh," he tensed, sensing danger, "and did Davie tell anyone outside of town this little theory of his?" He couldn't believe he'd been so stupid (and so early on for that matter.)

"It was a long time ago John and no, of course not. Davie's a good kid and would probably lay down in traffic for you if it came right down to it. You did save his life that one time."

"I was just doing my job, Carrie..." He sighed. Their conversation was getting dangerously close to things he just couldn't talk about yet. He almost wanted to warn Carrie to be careful, but that would have given too much away.

"I know you were," Carrie continued, oblivious to John's internal struggle. "I guess all I'm trying to say is that you mean a lot to the people of this town, John. Probably more than you realize. You get that, right?" He looked down and met Carrie's imploring eyes and tried to decide if he believed her. He'd spent the last 20 years of his life trying to be completely invisible and the woman in his arms was telling him that he'd failed at it miserably, and on multiple levels. No wonder the USSF found him so easily.

"What about you?" He asked, breaking their linked gaze to stare at the little window near the bed that had frosted over during the night. "What's your theory about me?"

Carrie stayed quiet of a few moments as if choosing her next words carefully, and John wasn't quite sure why he'd asked.

"Well," she started slowly, "I used to think you were just a man looking for a fresh start and for a long time that was enough for me. But now, after talking to Eddie and the boys about what happened last night in the bar, I think that maybe you were a soldier in the Wraith War and I think that you had a really good reason for leaving and changing your name. I also think you've been running away from your past and that it caught up with you yesterday at the bar."

John looked back over at her then, trying to keep his face a blank canvas of indifferent calm, but the look she was giving him told him she was seeing right through his efforts at neutrality. He broke their eye contact again and she lifted a hand to run her knuckles down the side of his face.

Carrie had hit the nail on the head and John realized he was suddenly at the edge of something, something big, and that anything that happened next in his life hinged on how he played out these next few minutes. It was as if he had one foot dangling over an unknown abyss and the other planted firmly on stable and familiar ground... and one push in either direction was all it was going to take to either send him plummeting down into the unknown or scrabbling back the way he'd just come.

"That man who came to see me yesterday," he heard himself saying, still not quite sure how much of this he wanted to share with Carrie just yet, "he's not going to be the last. The people he works for... they want me back and I don't know if there's anywhere in the world I can go to get away from them."

"So maybe you don't run anymore?" Carrie suggested and John let out a derisive snort. She was inching him closer to the edge and didn't even know it.

"That's easy for you to say. What I did for these people... well let's just say if I told you some of the stuff I'd seen and done, I'd probably have to kill you."

"And you don't want to go back to that?" She asked seriously.

"I _can't_ go back to that." He answered firmly and her brow furrowed a little like it usually did when she was trying to figure out something big.

"Why not?"

"You ask a lot of questions," he repeated hotly but Carrie wasn't going to give up.

"Serving your country is a noble thing, John. Especially if she needs you."

"You wouldn't be saying that if you knew what I'd done." John pushed out as best he could, unable to hide the shake to his voice.

God, he'd spent the last 20 years of his life trying to get away from these things, why were they so intent on tracking him down and tearing him apart?

"Then tell me!" She was pleading. "Help me understand."

"I can't."

"Why the hell not?"

"Jesus, Carrie!" He exploded, jumping out of bed as anger erupted in the center of his stomach and propelled him forward. Thankfully he'd pulled his boxers on during the night so he had some defense against the frigid morning air that hit against his mostly bare skin. But he barely even registered the cold. It was anger that burned hot beneath his skin. "What the hell do you want to know all of this stuff for?"

"God, John! Relax!" She yelled back, sitting up in bed and wrapping the sheet around her bare shoulders. "I'm just trying to understand what's going on with you."

"And hearing about all the sick shit I did in my past, that's going to help you do that?" He spat, the anger at his center building and threatening detonation.

"Maybe!" She countered carelessly. "Maybe if you let me in a little I can help you figure this thing out!"

"Figure it out? Fuck, Carrie, this isn't something you can just fix!" They had never fought like this before and the fury boiling in his very veins at her audacity was scaring him a little. He hadn't let himself get this emotional since that one time with Wolsey just after the Wraith War and he was suddenly terrified. And unfortunately, that terror made him careless.

"And why the hell not, John? Why won't you at least let me try?"

"Because you don't need to hear about this shit, Carrie!" he yelled again, balling his hands into angry fists and choking down the urge to put one of those fists through the wall, "You don't need to know about the things I've done; the things they forced me to do!"

"Carrying everything from your past around inside of you is suicide, John!" She pleaded, moving to the edge of the bed and throwing her bare legs over it to get closer to him. "My dad was a Marine and he came back from Vietnam with demons so terrible he saw no other way out than to blow his brains out in the bathroom while I was right downstairs. I've seen what war does to good men who don't open up and deal with the things they saw John and all I'm doing here is offering you a chance to do that. With me. With someone who loves you!"

" _Loves_ me? Christ Carrie, you barely KNOW me!" He shouted and the woman in front of him went as white as the sheet around her shoulders.

"But I do know you," She said quietly but with enough anger in her voice to make the words shake on their way out as she rose from the bed to stand in front of him. "After 10 years, I know who the hell you are John Sheppard."

John closed his eyes then and saw red. It was the worst thing she could have done; using that old name against him, not understanding how hard he'd fought to separate himself from it.

John pulled in a ragged breath and willed his fists not to strike out at her. He'd never in his entire life hit an unarmed woman in anger, but if she took one more step towards him, he was in serious danger of doing just that. Rage so pure it blossomed white stars behind his eyelids welled up out of his every pore and he realized suddenly the mistake he'd made. Eddie, Carrie... he never should have let them in. He'd made a pact with himself long ago: no more innocent civilians shot down by friendly fire, and yet, the at the first opportunity he'd gotten, he'd betrayed that oath.

He was an idiot, a classic fool, and the anger that had built itself up inside of him like a fire in the center of his gut went out just as quickly as it had formed, and John knew what it was he had to do. Pulling in every last shred of self control he had left, he threw himself over the edge he'd been courting and down into the unknown abyss.

"You haven't got a damn clue who I am, Carrie." He breathed, still not daring to open his eyes to look up at her. "Now put your clothes back on and get the hell out of my house."

"N-no John," she stammered, taking a step forward like she didn't really believe what he was saying, but he put an arm out to stop her and looked her right in the eye. She flinched back at what she saw there, what he'd put there for her to see, but defiance still erupted behind her own eyes.

"I won't let you do this," she cried, tears filling her eyes and sliding down her anger reddened cheeks. "Please, don't push me away. Don't do this to us."

Carrie took another step toward him then but this time instead of reaching out to stop her with his hand again he reversed away until his back hit the wall behind him. If he touched her, there was a very real chance he wouldn't be able to let go again, and he had to see this through.

His hasty retreat hadn't deterred Carrie though, and she kept coming until she was pressed tightly against him, the sheet the only thing separating her skin from his. She leaned forward and tried to kiss him but John turned his face away at the last moment and her lips landed against the pale skin of his cheek instead.

"There is no 'us'." He said through teeth he clenched together more to keep his resolve than in actual anger and Carrie shrank away from him. "Get the fuck out of my house, Carrie."

She stood there for a moment or two like she was going to argue but then her shoulders slumped, her eye line dropped to the floor in defeat and she choked on her tears as she gathered her things up from the hardwood. John watched all of this from his place against the wall with hands still clenched into fists and he fought hard against the urge to take her back into his arms and apologize, but he'd managed to get this far and he had to finish this, if only save Carrie from a fate worse than death.

She pulled her clothes on hastily and practically ran from the room but paused at the top of the stairs to look back at him with hand resting lightly against the banister he'd carved himself from a fallen tree limb they'd found in the woods together. Her pretty features were puffy from crying and her eyes were red and bloodshot, but even standing there a sobbing mess, she was the most beautiful thing in the world and it took everything in John not to go to her.

"I really do love you, John Sheppard," she said just loud enough for him to hear before turning around and disappearing down the stairs.

When the front door of the cabin banged shut so hard he heard the little window at its center break, John slid down the wall to sit on the frigid floor and buried his face in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to know what you think so far. Please take a second to leave me your thoughts!


	5. Surprise Attack

Being the town recluse was not without its perks. For one thing, if John didn't show his face around town for days at a time, no one thought anything of it or came looking for him to make sure everything was okay. In fact, if he wanted to, he could probably live out here in his little clearing in the woods indefinitely without ever needing anything from another living soul. The Wisconsin River offered all the fish he could catch, someday soon he might actually be able to talk himself into shooting a deer, and he had pretty damn impressive root cellar behind the house stocked with all the things he'd grown that year in the garden he and Carrie had made.

He was set.

...Or so he thought.

It had been three days since his fight with Carrie and he knew, being the kind of person she was, everything was pretty much over between them. The things he'd said to her (and those he hadn't) were going to be enough to drive her away for good this time and he couldn't blame the woman for it. For years they had been playing this kind of game of faked, unvoiced commitment, but he'd known, even in the early days, that it could never be allowed to last. He was too... unavailable and it was as if he'd just been waiting for the day someone would breeze into town and take that girl away to the life she deserved, knowing all along that he wasn't the man for the job. Still, as much as he craved a life of utter solitude, human beings just weren't designed to survive completely alone, no matter how much he tried to live his life to the contrary, and John was miserable as he stoked the fire he'd just built up and listened to the unyielding quiet around him.

Maybe he would get a dog. There were enough of them left in the world without homes now that half the population was gone and he was kind of surprised he hadn't thought of it sooner. But it was too late for that now as he had the sneaky suspicion he wasn't going to be staying in Blue River, Wisconsin for very much longer.

John set the poker he'd been using back against the wall and, stomach rumbling loudly and reminding him he hadn't eaten since yesterday, he tried to shake himself away from the thoughts that were driving him crazy and headed into the kitchen. But the thoughts were tacky to the touch, and followed along behind him into the kitchenette where he stopped next to clean up the congealing plates of meatloaf that Carrie had left out on the counter the other night and he had forgotten to clean up. He sent out a little silent apology to Millie for disrespecting her famous dish so and dumped the molding and untouched contents of the plates on top of the compost pile behind the cabin before donning his heavy hunting jacket and grabbing his favorite fishing pole from just inside the back door.

It was a bit warmer outside compared to the last few days and John carefully picked his way through the thick dead grasses near the river's edge and walked out onto a short little pier he'd constructed himself ten or so summer's ago. The Wisconsin River could be swift at times and he'd lost his little river boat a few summers ago to the current, but the dock was a nice place to sit and catch fish and he eased himself down onto cold boards to get ready.

The ice choked Wisconsin river trudged along grumpily a few inches beneath his boots and John threaded his fishing line through the eye of the hook he had brought with him with cold fingers and tied a messy clinch knot; wetting the line a little with spit when he couldn't get it to pull tight properly. He attached the weights he would need to fight against the river's strong current next and then finally the bright red bobber Carrie had given to him as impromptu birthday present a few years ago. She hadn't been able to pry the real information from him so she had chosen an arbitrary day on an old calendar he used to have pinned up on the kitchen wall beside the stove and presented him with the bobber the next day with a smile. He thought for a moment about just tossing the damn thing and the memories it conjured into the water to be carried away downstream but he settled on taking his aggressions out on the worm he pulled from a container and used to bait the end of his hook. The cold little body captured between his thumb and forefinger squirmed in his grip a bit but he managed to get the sharp hook into it a few times over and offered up a silent apology to the little critter for its unfortunate fate as an afterthought.

Finally ready to cast, John drew his arm back then forward quickly with a snap to let the line fly with a practiced flick of the wrist and a quick press to the release on the side of his reel. It was a series of movements he knew by heart and he let go the exact moment he knew his line was where he wanted it, and the red and white bobber Carrie had given him settled gracefully onto the swiftly flowing Wisconsin River without a hitch.

Before the war John had never been what you'd call a serious 'outdoorsmen' but he'd learned a thing or two from the master of fishing himself: General O'Neill, on the few trips he'd taken with the guy up to the General's own cabin in the woods. He'd gotten a crash course in the basics up there at that lake, but it was here, along the banks of the brown Wisconsin river - behind a cabin he'd practically rebuilt himself from the ground up with his bare hands - that he'd truly learned to love it. There was something powerful about the way his arm knew exactly where to go to set his line perfectly in the water and John thought maybe he understood the draw of this place a little better then.

For his entire life he had believed that he was in charge of his own actions, his own destiny... but one horrible and unimaginable event in his past had shown him that that idea of being in control was nothing but a delusion and that at any time, anyone he trusted could betray him and use his loyalty against him. Yet still, even though any feeling of free will he'd once had was ground down into dust and gathered into a little pathetic pile at his feet, no one could come here to this place and control the instinctual way he knew to flick his wrist or the dictate to him the exact arc of his arm needed to let that fishing line fly. Those were still things that belonged to him, and always would be, if he had anything to say about it.

Shifting uncomfortably under the weight of heavy thoughts, John let his eyes roam around the frozen banks on either side of the waterway and tried to think of other things. Even if he had no luck with the fish today at least the river could be counted on not to demand anything from him beyond focus on his line and absolute silence so as not to scare the fish away. So he sat as still as his overactive body would allow and concentrated on the sounds of the wildlife around him. A tight formation of geese chose that moment to make their way across the steely gray sky above his head and to honk a chorus of hellos down at him as they passed and continued on their journey southward. John lifted his chin and watched them go, their brown and white bodies disappearing over the tree line and then finally past his cabin in a rudimentary arrow.

John could still remember the day he'd found this piece of land tucked back from civilization and hugging the southernmost edge of the Wisconsin state river preserve. Eddie Nostrand had mentioned the old hunting cabin to him back when he was still trying to find a place to live that didn't require social security numbers or employment histories to obtain. The previous owner of the cabin had passed away with no living relatives that anyone knew of so John didn't think the old man would care if he moved in and made the place his. And for 10 years or more he'd apparently been right. No one in town had minded either and he found it amusing how quickly the old cabin out off Smith Street had morphed from Old Man Johnson's Place into John Evan's Place amongst the Blue River townsfolk almost overnight.

The cabin had been little more than a collapsing collection of dilapidated wood when John had first happened upon her, but the underlying structure had been sound and he'd stripped her down to the bare bones then built her back up again with all the care he had left in himself at the time. The end result had been a cozy secluded place where he could hang his hat... and wasn't that just what he had been wandering around the countryside looking for for years in the first place? Whatever the reasons for him settling here, the house complimented him. It was simple and undemanding; knew the value of giving back what was put into it and it wasn't just a house... it was a home.

Even though he never thought he'd find it or that he even deserved to have one anymore, the little cabin in the woods was just that, a home... and now he was going to have to leave it forever.

Carrie came back into his thoughts then and John resisted the urge to sigh audibly in case he had any interested nibblers in the riverbed. They way he'd left left things with her was weighing on his mind, refusing to be discarded completely and John had half a mind to get his stupid ass off the dock and go into town to apologize to her. He played their fight over and over again in his mind and knew he'd been cruel and that he'd lied because as much as he wanted to deny it, Carrie Sinclair had found her way into his heart and nothing he was trying was working to force her back out.

Something tugged at the end of John's line and the red bobber he'd been watching absently dipped below the water line, instantly pulling him from his thoughts. Giving the pole a quick tug upwards and back, he watched the line dance around the water and knew he'd caught something and - judging by the fight it was putting up - it was something fairly sizeable.

He pulled the fish in quickly and expertly, careful not to let his catch throw the hook, until a decent sized catfish sat flopping and eyeing him angrily from the water darkened dock boards as he pulled the hook from the its mouth and dumped it unceremoniously into the tin bucket he'd brought along with and had filled partially with icy cold river water. The catfish put up a spectacular fight at first, but eventually it gave up trying to escape and lay heaving on top of the mostly frozen over water as John reset his line for another go.

He wasn't going to last much longer out here in the cold. Winter was already promising a brutal season and he slid near frozen fingers into gloves that really didn't fit him all that well and zipped the collar of his coat up further against the chill before he cast again. Yet even brown and dead, the banks of the river were still somewhat picturesque... though the height of summer was when it really showed off it's true beauty. That was when wildflowers grew in mindless clumps along either bank so numerous it was like someone had taken fists full of seeds and thrown them up in the air with no care as to where they landed. It was when the roots of the trees bending over the water's edge like they were interested in seeing their own reflections would cover themselves in moss so green you couldn't really call it green anymore and the valley would come alive with life. Those were loud times too; when Mother Nature screamed at the top of her lungs that she had been spared the horrors of the Wraith darts and was defiantly taking back over her world.

An hour or so later and having no more luck with the fish, John finally eased his achingly cold body up off the dock and headed back into the promised warmth of his cabin with his catch. The fire he had built up was blazing away in there already so it was going to be warm and comfortable and his empty stomach growled in anticipation of the fish lying at the very bottom of his bucket; though he wondered what his appetite would be like after he finished preparing his meager catch. Normally cleaning fish didn't bother him at all, but ever since that day in the blind, the scene at Eddie's and then the fight with Carrie, his internal focus had been all over the map. It was a symptom, he knew, of a bigger issue but he didn't know how to fix it. He was conflicted about what he needed to do... but he couldn't even decide on what that was... was it to sit in his chair in front of the fire and wait to see who they sent to collect him next? Or was it to put this place and all she held, in his review mirror and never look back? But John just wasn't _young_ anymore. He was almost 55 years old now and he was long past any prime he might have had; and even though he was still in as good a shape as he had been at 35, he was kind of ready to slow down and be still.

The rewards of a life hard fought were supposed to be peace and quiet and a safe place to rest his head at the end of the day, weren't they? So why was he exempt from that end all of a sudden? Why couldn't fate and the universe just leave him the hell alone? He'd paid more than his fair share of dues in sweat and blood and loss so the least destiny could do was leave him the hell alone for a little while, right? And yet, on the other hand, did he really deserve peace after what he had done? The atrocities he'd committed? Stargate Command apparently thought he was worthy of some kind of redemption, but could he really go back to the people who had forced him to commit those unspeakable things?

Conflicted and pissed, John banged open the back door of the cabin and angrily slammed his bucket down on the worn linoleum counter near the sink; the ice heavy pail reverberating the force of the slam back up into his arm and sloshing the now dead fish around the bottom of the pail like a... well... dead fish. Four days ago he had been happy and inconspicuous and all it had taken to shatter that carefully constructed existence was some stupid kid from the USSF tracking him down from his picture on the internet and calling him out in front of everyone in town.

God, he'd strangle Carole at Eagle Cave if he ever thought he'd see that woman again! Shit, that had been so stupid, letting her take that damn picture when he knew full well what she was going to do with it. But he hadn't even thought about the consequences or their repercussions, in fact he'd kind of liked the idea.

 _Guide_ , they'd named him. Just like the Wraith used to call him, and that right there should have tipped him off that taking the job at Eagle Cave was a bad idea. He'd gotten careless and now he was going to pay for it with his life.

John dug the sharpest knife he owned out of a drawer and stabbed it into the skin on the back of the catfish near it's spine and slashed downwards as ruthlessly as he dared. He should have been doing this outside and with the proper set up to contain the mess, but he could have cared less in that moment and angrily ripped the skin away from the body of the fish with a pair of pliers he always kept handy in a can near the edge of the sink... the pair of pliers Carrie always gave him a hard time about for keeping in the kitchen. Having caught the fish only a short time ago the skin came away from the body easily enough but that wasn't what he wanted. What he wanted was something to take his aggressions out on, to forget about Carrie and her silk flowers gathering dust in the middle of his dining room table, and thus far the fish wasn't living up to his expectations. He savagely slashed at the parts he needed to remove, mindful of the spurs on the fins, then let the fish's slimy entrails fall out over his hands and onto the counter as he savagely slashed at its belly. The process wasn't nearly as satisfying had he had hoped it would be and instead of feeling better at the end of it all, John was left with nothing more than shaking hands and a completely wrecked kitchen counter top. Sighing in defeat and letting a little of his bluster release, John rinsed the catfish carcass clean in the sink, set it aside to scrub down the counter top, then filleted the catfish as carefully as he could into four decent sized helpings. It was more than he needed but maybe he could put some out in the ancient icebox behind the cabin next to the generator to save for later.

If this had been any other Friday night John would have thought about heading into town and to the Tamed Tiger for its famed Friday night fish fry, but that wasn't exactly an option any more, and he busied himself with getting the wood burning stove in the corner of his kitchen ready to cook his catch.

The old cabin stove was cast iron and monstrous and took up half the space in the kitchen but Old Man Johnson had spared no expense on the thing and it had served John well over the years. In fact, if he thought he could get away with it, he probably would have tried to take the damn thing with him if or when he left. He even had a few cast iron pots and pans that had been in the cabin when he'd first arrived and even John had to admit, there was nothing better than a pot of steaming hot coffee brewed to perfection in a cast iron kettle.

Deciding fried fish was indeed the order of the day, John pulled the heavy frying pan down from its hook on the wall then opened the kitchen's one lone cupboard to search it for where Carrie had hidden the oil and the spices he would need, but something caught his attention mid reach and John paused.

He was pretty attuned to his surroundings (years of living alone in the woods could do that to a person) and after the other day in the bar and then his fight with Carrie, he had been on extra high alert already. So John could have sworn that, down the road and away from the house, almost too far away to be absolutely sure he wasn't just hearing things, he could make out the faintest sound of an approaching engine struggling up his lane. There were only two people in town who would come all the way out here to check on him and John focused in to try and get a better lock on the sound. It was definitely a car and was most certainly headed his way, but the engine didn't sound at all familiar. Eddie would know better than to come out here so soon after the shit that had hit the fan in his bar and he hoped to god it wasn't Carrie driving Eileen's car to try and throw him off. Whoever it ended up being, John had made a promise to Major Fancypants and if it was indeed another representative of the United States Strategic Force, he was going to give that poor bastard a run for their money.

John had put his rifle away in the shed out back after that disastrous hunting trip with Eddie the other day, but that didn't mean he wasn't armed. As a byproduct of his time in the Air Force, the first thing he'd done when he'd moved into the cabin was stash a gun in every available nook and cranny he could find that would safely hide a weapon and he went for the closest one to where he was.

The Para-Ordnance P-14 secured to the underside of his kitchen table hadn't been fired in over 20 years, but John knew the gun wouldn't fail him. With nothing much to do out in the woods with no electricity, gun maintenance had become a bit of an obsession of his and he ripped the well cared for gun from its holster just as the vehicle approaching his house stopped halfway through the turnabout in front of the cabin and cut its engine.

The automobile outside in his driveway ran on gas, and that fact alone told John that his unwanted visitor was most likely not a local. Most of the people he knew in Blue River drove cars or trucks that ran on diesel since the New Horizons Co-Op in town was still able to manufacture the fuel for the local farmers. No, whoever it was that was shuffling up John's porch stairs with heavy footsteps and up to his front door wasn't from the area but was apparently alone if the one door slam from earlier was any indication. Still, John knew what the people out for him were capable of and he gripped the P-14 in his hands a little tighter before throwing his back against the kitchen wall he'd added himself to enclose the space beneath the stairs leading up to the second level. It would conceal him from anyone trying to peer into the cabin, but it also meant he couldn't identify his visitor either. There were no lights on in the cabin and dusk was fast approaching, so that helped a little too, but the thought of having to defend himself should they try to take him by force was enough to start his hands to trembling. John reined in his errant nerves as best he could and tried to remain calm.

These moments were the kind he'd trained for and dealt with his entire life. This was no different than blasting himself out of a Wraith Hive ship teeming with faceless foot soldiers and he forced his mind into that calm cool head-space he would need to help get him out of this encounter unscathed.

Whoever was on his front porch wrapped their knuckles against the door and John knew his best bet was going to be moving out from behind the cover of the kitchen wall so he could get a better look at his assailant. Glancing around the corner for a split second, no face was visible between the spider web cracks of the recently broken window and John made a mad dash for the front door under the cover of flickering firelight, ducking away just as his mystery visitor walked back in front of the little window and tried knocking again. John stiffened against the door, waited for the figure to move off again and when it did, he carefully and quietly turned the door's knob until he could safely open it without making a noise. He put a hand up to the storm door's latch, cursing himself for not having oiled its hinges like he'd reminded himself to do weeks ago, and readied himself for his surprise attack.

The unknown figure on his porch was shuffling around near the living room windows and John paused with breath held until until instinct took over. He threw himself forward with all the force his ageing knees could give him and aimed the gun directly at the middle of his visitor's back.

"FREEZE ASSHOLE!" He bellowed, bursting out of the house and startling the hunched figure trying to peer into his living room from around the curtains so badly that they actually yelped.

"Damn it, Sheppard!" The man roared back at him, throwing his hands in the air but not turning around. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

The sound of the voice speaking to him hit him like a ton of bricks and the weight of it was almost enough to bend John at the middle under the weight of memories battering against him so suddenly. He lost his ability to speak for a moment and the elderly man in front of him turned around slowly, hands still raised like they were in the middle of a stickup, but all John could do was stare at the figure with mouth agape.

"M-McKay?" He eventually managed to choke out, stumbling over the name almost as if it had not wanted to be released.

"The one and only," Rodney beamed for a second or two but quickly sobered when he realized John was still training the gun at the center of his chest. "Think you could point that thing somewhere else, John?"

"What?" he stammered. "Oh!" He lowered the P-14 as Rodney lowered his arms and they stood in an awkward silence for a moment looking each other over hesitantly.

"What's with the beard, Paul Bunion?" The physicist quipped, but John didn't know how to respond. The man standing before him on his porch was not the man he'd expected the USSF to send and he didn't know whether to be pissed... or commend the newly formed SGC for their ingenuity at sending Rodney McKay in to do their dirty work.

"Heloooo, Earth to John? Do you think you could at least invite me in? It's freezing out here and I really don't want to catch some Wisconsin Wilderness superbug." Rodney suggested, shivering melodramatically as if for added emphasis, and John shook his head to try and clear his brain.

"Um, sure. Come on in," he said finally and moved out of the way so Rodney McKay could make his way into the cabin. John followed in behind the scientist but not before he did a quick sweep of the grounds with his eyes just to make sure McKay hadn't brought anyone else with him. There was no one.

"Well this is... quaint," Rodney was commenting as John shut the cabin door behind them and bolted it just in case. "What happened to your window?"

"Huh?"

Rodney threw John an inquisitive look over his shoulder. "Your front door genius; the window's broken."

"Oh. Girl trouble." He answered without even thinking about it, totally taken aback by the easy way with which McKay addressed him as if they'd seen each other only yesterday and not 18 years ago when John had wished the astrophysicist good luck with his life, then disappeared off the face of the earth.

"Figures you'd still be a Captain Kirk after all these years," Rodney joked easily enough, but there was still a hint of the old McKay in the way he said the words with just the smallest hint of jealousy. "Hey, do you have any other lights we could turn on? It's really dark in here." Rodney was inspecting the interior of the cabin and looked over at John expectantly when he couldn't find a lamp, but John was still standing dumbfounded just inside the front door trying to wrap his head around the fact that the friend he hadn't seen in 18 years was standing in the middle of his house. It was surreal and he couldn't figure out how he felt about it just yet.

"John?" Rodney walked backed over to where he was standing rooted in place and looked genuinely concerned. "Are you all right?" McKay was eying him skeptically now, like he wasn't entirely certain John was all there and he shook himself slightly to try and get over the shock that had him anchored in place and unable to speak.

"Just wait here a second, Rodney," he finally said, putting a hand out to indicate he was serious. "I'll be right back," and he walked out the back door of the cabin to find the generator in the dark, leaving the surprised scientist standing near the front door without explanation.

It was pitch black outside now, and colder than hell, but John knew the back of his house as well as anything and easily found what he was looking for in the dark. The generator roared itself to life a few seconds later when he found the right button then settled into its work at a more tolerable decibel level as John rubbed melted snow off his palms and onto his jeans and made his way back into the cabin still trying to wrap his head around everything. Rodney was standing in the exact same place he'd left him and was watching John's every move with wary attention like he expected at any moment to have to make a mad dash for escape. But John ignored all of it and went to work excavating a pair of dusty old lamps from the closet under the stairs in silence. When he finally found them, he plugged them both into the lines he'd fed in from outside in case of one of Carrie's 'emergencies' and filled his little cabin with more light than it had seen years. The illumination, bathing them both in its bright light as the lamps blazed to life, set Rodney to blinking and seemed to be all the catalyst the scientist needed to relax once again.

"Oh that's much better," he said merrily and shrugged out of the heavy wool coat he was bundled up into before throwing it over the back of Car... what had used to be Carrie's chair.

"What are you doing here, Rodney?" John asked pointedly after he finished positioning the lamps where they would throw the most light and Rodney stopped his inspection of the living room to look over at him sharply.

"I could ask you the same thing," the scientist replied with a glint in his eye but John wasn't in the mood for games.

"Did the USSF send you?" He demanded, crossing his arms over his chest to broadcast his displeasure at the whole situation, but Rodney merely sighed. "Because if they did..."

"Look John," Rodney interrupted, throwing up his hands, "I've had a really long day and I'm starving. Why don't we cook up that fish you've got sticking up the place and talk once I've gotten something in my stomach." As if to agree with the suggestion, Rodney's stomach complained audibly. "See?"

"But... you hate fish," John replied simply and Rodney laughed.

"Used to, John. I used to hate fish. Now, I'll fry it up. You stoke that fire; and you wouldn't happen to have a radio somewhere would you? It's so quiet out here!" John eyed his guest apprehensively but Rodney only smiled over at him before rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and heading into the kitchen.

"Okay, I can work with this," the scientist muttered under his breath with an errant glance around the sparse kitchen and the wood burning stove before starting to root around in the cupboard to the left of the sink and John knew there wouldn't be any use in arguing with the man at this point. Sighing a little himself, he went back over to the closet under the stairs and dug an old transistor radio out before setting it up on one end of the dining room table and turning its dusty knob until Johnny Cash's dulcet tones spilled out of the tinny speakers.

"Perfect!" Rodney called over his shoulder from the kitchen, elbow deep in a cupboard, and John headed over to stoke the fire as ordered and to watch his old friend from afar.

Rodney was a lot skinnier than John would have thought he'd be though the scientist tried to hide it with an over-sized shirt and thick red and black checkered vest. Of all the people John had known from before the War, Rodney would have been the one he'd expect to let himself go, but the balding man bouncing around his kitchen to the Beatles tune that had come on after Cash was anything but. If anything he reminded John of the holographic Rodney he'd met 40,000 years in the future on Atlantis, but thinner; like this incarnation of McKay had seen more hardship than his previous future incarnation. And for all John knew, he had.

John had no idea what Rodney (or anyone else with the SGC for that matter) had done after the war because he'd never allowed himself the luxury of trying to check up on his old friend for fear the military would track his movements somehow, though he was damn curious about the life Rodney had lead after John had left all those years ago. He had a suspicion that they would get to it eventually and that that was why Rodney was filling his cabin with the savory smells of frying catfish and insisting they sit down and eat dinner together before they talked. This was Rodney McKay they were dealing with after all, John reminded himself, and when had the scientist ever done anything the easy way?

When supper was finally ready Rodney set out two expertly fried catfish fillets on the table and motioned for John to join him.

"Got any beer?" He asked, looking back towards the kitchen and searching for the fridge John didn't have, face falling when he realized there wasn't one. John got up from the table without saying anything and retrieved two ice cold beers from the box just outside the back door and set one down in front of Rodney's plate with a dull thud. It was a local Wisconsin brew called Spotted Cow that John was particularly fond of and Rodney popped the cap of his expertly on the side of the table before pulling at it in large greedy gulps and settling in to his fish with a sigh. John watched all of this from his seat with what must have been an amusing expression on his face because Rodney stopped mid bite to look over at him with a laugh.

"For heaven's sake Sheppard, what? You better eat up before that gets cold!" Rodney chided good-naturedly, pointing his still loaded fork at John's plate.

"Who _are_ you?" He asked a little incredulously, not sure what to make of this new version of his very old friend sitting across from him at his own dining room table and drinking beer like it was the most natural thing in the world for two old men to be doing.

"I'm you're old friend, Rodney," the scientist smiled, taking his bite and closing his eyes a little as he chewed. "Good God, that's good! Did you catch this today?"

John nodded

"Thought so. It's incredible." He praised, shoveling more into his mouth like the Rodney McKay of old. "Come on, Sheppard, eat up. You're going to need your strength for later." McKay actually winked at him then before going back to his food and John lifted his own fork to his mouth to sample the catfish even though food was the farthest thing from his mind in that instant. The thing was, the fish was actually fantastic. He wasn't sure what Rodney had been able to find in the hidden caverns that were his cupboards, but whatever the scientist had done to the fish, it was amazing and before he knew it John had cleaned his plate and was reaching for another helping from the pan Rodney had set on the corner of the table in case they wanted seconds. He was ravenous, he suddenly realized, and it felt like he hadn't eaten in weeks.

"Not half bad, if I do say so myself," Rodney sighed contentedly when he'd finished, sitting back and patting a hand over his protruding belly before taking another pull from his beer. John scraped the last bits of fish from his own plate with his fork then pushed the dish to the side to rest his elbows on the edge of the table and level a serious look in McKay's direction. Rodney put his beer bottle back down on the table with a small nod and his face lost a little of its earlier mirth.

It was time to talk.

"How have you been, John?" McKay asked before Sheppard could form everything running through his mind at once into a coherent starting question and John blinked over at the man. It was a funny query considering the last time they'd seen each other was 18 years ago when John had said his goodbyes then disappeared. How had he been was complicated and he couldn't tell if Rodney expected a serious answer or not.

"I gotta say Rodney, I'm a little confused and wondering what it is you're doing here."

"Landry asked me to come." The scientist stated simply with a shrug of his shoulders.

"That's what that wet behind the ears Major the USSF sent here earlier said, too."

"Yeah, Major Bradshaw. Landry told me they'd sent him in first. Believe me, I dressed them all down good for that asinine idea." Rodney chuckled cheerlessly.

"And this General Landry, he's Hank Landry's nephew?" John asked.

"Yes! He is." Rodney exclaimed, sitting forward in his excitement. "I guess he's Hank's brother Jeff's son and you should see the family resemblance, Sheppard. It's uncanny... like looking at a ghost." Rodney went quiet after that, almost like he was realizing he'd brought them dangerously close to some kind of line. It was line John wasn't entirely sure he was ready to cross over just yet and he eyed McKay apprehensively. He could feel the familiar pull of old grief shuffle up beside him and he tried to will away the memories it set out before him to see. They were full of old things that he had lost, that they all had lost, in that damn war, and he was angry at Rodney for a moment for forcing him to face them. Hank Landry had been casualty number one in a long line of bodies all leading up to John's front door.

"What are you doing working for them Rodney?" He asked suddenly and McKay stopped fiddling with the label on his beer to look back over at John with something unreadable behind his eyes.

It took the scientist a minute to answer, like he was trying to think of the safest way to say what it was he'd come all this way to say.

"I guess I'm working for them because, regardless of what happened in the past, the Earth is still vulnerable. And I figure the only way it's going to stay safe is if I'm around to keep it that way." He smiled after the last bit. "I mean, come on, I am the best in my field, as I'm sure you well remember." John could tell Rodney thought his own self-depreciation was funny, but he would have bet a million bucks right then and there that Rodney McKay still thought of himself that way.

"So why are you here then, Rodney? What do they want from me?" He finally asked, guessing the answer already but wanting to hear it from McKay's own lips and Rodney's shoulders lifted in a heavy sigh before he started.

"There never was any beating around the bush with you, was there Sheppard?" The scientist replied and gave another smile but this one didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Well, in order to make an incredibly long and convoluted story short, I'll just come right out with it.

Your government has reformed the Stargate Program and General Landry is heading it up. We recently acquired a power source large enough to power up Atlantis again, and Landry and the IOA have decided it's time to fly the city back to Pegasus to reestablish the expedition there. You would be reinstated and promoted to Brigadier General and be the Expedition Leader and I would tag along as lead scientist. And I even managed to talk a few people we know into coming back for it all! Even Lorne reenlisted and Carson Beckett has also agreed to come back and help."

John knew immediately that Rodney had been saving this final name for last and the memory of Dr. Beckett swam to the forefront of his mind. The last time he'd seen his friend was after he'd nearly been killed in an explosion on Atlantis and the man was doing everything in his power to save his knee. As if remembering its previous trauma, he felt the tendons there twinge painfully and he reached a hand down to rub at the offended joint. He'd give anything to see that man again since their parting had been anything but pleasant. John shivered at the memories.

"What's going through your head right now, Sheppard?" Rodney asked, interrupting his thoughts and pulling his focus back away from the past.

John cleared his throat. "I was just wondering why the hell the USSF thinks it can come to me after all these years and ask for my help. Especially after what those frickin' cowards did."

"Ah. I see," Rodney answered but John was pretty sure he didn't, not really.

"...Or how they could ever think I would _want_ to come back." he added and Rodney looked over at him sadly.

"Well, if you won't do it for them or for me, would you do it for Torren?"

"Torren?" The name had John stopping short and looking up sharply. What did Teyla's son have to do with anything? "What are you talking about Rodney?"

"Torren's here, John. On Earth. In New York actually."

"What?" He exclaimed, nearly knocking his beer over. "But I thought they would have sent him back to Pegasus on the Daedalus to live with his mother's people?!"

"No, John. Teyla wanted him to stay here. But you would have known all that had you come to the funerals and not dropped off the face of the earth like some asshole." Rodney's voice tightened and John felt anger heat the skin of his face beneath his beard.

"How the hell can you say that to me Rodney?" John growled out, doing his best to keep his anger in check before he said something he would regret. "And after everything that happened?"

"What happened was terrible and wrong on so many levels, John," Rodney countered, leaning forward, "but after it was over you just up and left with no thought to what you were leaving behind. We needed you there with us John, to help bring down those responsible for what happened, but you just vanished. And people lost their lives! Good people _died_ doing what you should have been around to help us do!"

"What are you talking about Rodney?" He sputtered, unprepared for the sudden turn in their conversation or for what his friend was telling him.

"What I mean is that you ran away and left the rest of us to clean up the mess without you! We managed it, but the cost was too high. Higher than it should have been John, because you weren't there to help us bring those bastards down!" Rodney finished his tirade then, throwing himself back in his chair like he needed to put as much space he could between himself and John.

He thought for a moment about opening his mouth to tell the son-of-a-bitch sitting at his kitchen table to get the hell out of his house and never come back... but John found he just couldn't do it. Rodney was telling him that people had died doing what he should have stuck around to do and calling him out on his most grievous of sins and he couldn't for the life of himself get up the will to kick Rodney McKay back out of his life again for doing it to him. Instead, John ran a hand over his face, then through is hair, and tried to rein in his emotions.

"What happened?"

"That's not the point John! The point is we got them, but we really could have used your help in doing it."

"I had no idea anyone would be able to go after them," he said quietly but didn't dare look back up to meet the gaze he could feel boring into him. If he looked up and saw hatred there, he was going to shake lose completely.

Rodney was quiet for a long time after that but eventually he spoke again. It was quiet and pinched, but he spoke.

"Look, what's done is done, John, and I made my peace with the past and your decisions a long time ago. Besides, I understand why you did what you did. They betrayed us all and what happened was unimaginable, and I can't say I wouldn't have done the exact same thing you did had I been in your shoes, but it's in the past now and it's high time you came home. The people responsible for what happened have paid for it and now we need you to come back and help us fly Atlantis back home to Pegasus. You can decide after that if you want to stay on as Expedition leader or not."

"You really did it, McKay?" He asked, finally finding his voice again, and ignoring the subtle manipulation Rodney had snuck into their discussion. "You tracked them all down and made them pay?" His thoughts flitted upstairs to the flash drives hidden beneath his floorboards and the difference those files might have made had he stuck around and used them to bring those bastards down instead of hording them to protect his own ass. Those thoughts, he knew, were going to haunt him for the rest of his life.

"We did." Rodney replied as if his thoughts were far off. "Every single last one of them."

"And what about Wolsey?"

"Ah. How'd you figure out he was still around?" Rodney asked seemingly unsurprised he'd pieced it together.

"Bradshaw and some of the bullshit he spouted, I guess. It had Wolsey's name all over it. And I figured he would be the only one left involved with Atlantis with the balls to track me down and ask me to help out even after everything that happened," he mused and Rodney chuckled. "So why didn't that coward go down with the ship?"

"That situation was a little more complicated," Rodney sighed, scratching at his chin and the five o'clock shadow that dusted the side of his face. "Technically, Wolsey wasn't giving the orders that day, he was just following them, and the snively little bastard had just enough clout left in his arsenal to get himself out of some serious jail time."

Even though the hated to do it, John let Richard Wolsey's face swim to the forefront of his mind. In that last year on Atlantis when Wolsey had taken over as Expedition Leader, John had actually found himself starting to like the guy a little. At first he had been completely by the book and a regular IOA stooge, but a few disasters and near fatal experiences with the Pegasus Galaxy had cured him of that pretty quickly and, towards the end, he was shaping up to be a fair and intelligent leader. But then the unthinkable had happened and John could still hear Wolsey's voice in his ear, giving him the order that would change the course of an entire world.

"Hey, there's still some justice left in the world," Rodney put in, seemingly picking up on the direction John's thoughts had taken. "He's nothing more than a glorified paper pusher in the Office of Acquisitions now."

John raised an eyebrow at the unfamiliar term and Rodney chortled a little with a shake of his head. "I keep forgetting you've been off the grid for almost 20 years. There's so much I have to tell you, but not tonight. Why don't you go pack your bags and in the morning I'll take you through some of it on our way back to the airport?" Rodney looked over at him with an expectant lift to his eyebrows but John just sat back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest, contemplating what it was his friend was asking of him.

He had built a life for himself here in Blue River, messed up as that life was, and now he knew that the men who had been hunting him for nearly 20 years were gone. John knew now that he could, if he wanted to, say no to all of it and live out the rest of his days here. He was older now, no longer the spry young warrior capable of running headlong into battle, and he wasn't quite sure he was ready to be the one on the sidelines of all that calling the shots either. He was no Jack O'Neill or Samantha Carter, but didn't he owe it to them to at least try and see if he could be good at this? And now that he knew those responsible for what he had been forced to do were no longer in the picture, there would be no threat of death hanging over his head if he did go back. ...No, he could do this; he _would_ do this. He would go upstairs and pack a bag like Rodney had suggested and go back to the SGC with him to fly Atlantis back home and try to atone for some of his sins.

"Ok, Rodney." He said finally and looked up to meet the scientist's surprised gaze over the table.

"Ok?" The scientist repeated with a grin.

"Yeah, McKay. I'm in."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to take a second to leave a comment


	6. Breakneck Speeds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in one day! Enjoy and thank you for reading and reviewing! 
> 
> This is a shorter exposition chapter but I hope it's not too dry. Mentions of major character deaths in this one.

"You know, there's so much to tell you about, I don't even know where to begin!"

John tried to ease his white knuckled grip off the edge of his seat and pay attention to what Rodney was saying, but the next curve the scientist took at 80mph had him grappling for purchase yet again and closing his eyes to keep from throwing up. He'd never been in a car with Rodney McKay before and he was making a pact with himself to never, ever, be in one with him again as the astrophysicist flew them down Hwy 133 at breakneck speeds that would have made Mario Andretti blush. John was already tired and irritable from an uncomfortable night sleeping in his chair by the fire, having chivalrous offered his guest the bed, and McKay doing his best to recreate the Autobahn through rural southern Wisconsin was not helping matters much.

"I mean, the USSF alone is convoluted enough but there's so much happening around the world that you missed. I can't believe you lived all those years without even a TV!" Rodney was practically screaming to be heard over the heat he had on full blast with the windows cracked open for no apparent reason John could see but to create some crazy wind tunnel of hot and cold air.

"That is why they call it _'living off the grid'_ , McKay," he yelled back, pushing his foot into the floor against the phantom break he wished he had. He was counting down the seconds until they stopped and he could carefully suggest to Rodney that he drive for a while. The scientist, it seemed, saw no issue with his driving habits, and happily turned a song that had just come on the radio up so he could sing along tunelessly over the din.

It was not exactly turning out to be the trip John had been expecting.

For one thing, he was worried about the safety of the picture frames in his rucksack in the trunk as Rodney took yet another turn at full speed and he heard the bag slide around the interior of the trunk and crash against the side. He hadn't needed to pack much that morning, he owned very little anymore, but what he had brought with him was precious and he almost wanted to order Rodney to pull over that second and switch seats with him.

"So they got rid of all the other branches of the military and decided to consolidate them into the United States Strategic Force. But I think the plan is to eventually reestablish the old branches once the population recovers a little. Things were too crazy with everyone running around doing their own thing so your President finally just decided to consolidate everyone down under one force."

"What about the old ranking systems and uniforms?" John asked, genuinely interested in what Rodney was telling him even though the odometer was steadily pushing 100 miles per hour.

"Gone, everything's different now and I think they went with the Army designations as the norm."

" _Really_." he said, surprised.

"Yeah. Have you been following the news at all? Do you know what's been going on with the government?"

"I know DC burned and that most everything's concentrated in New York now, but other than that, nothing much really," John admitted.

"Well, as you can imagine, the Wraith wiped out a pretty good chunk of the population. I think the final number between Canada and the US came out to just around 100 million, but no one part of the population got hit harder than the others. The Wraith didn't care if someone was a billionaire or a migrant worker in the end, so we were lucky no one industry or service lost everyone associated with it. It made building everything back up a lot easier, but it still took a while. But I think I can honestly say that things are finally getting back to normal now.

The world's still the same," Rodney finished, "there's just fewer people in it now."

"What made them decide to start the Stargate Program back up after all this time?" He asked, turning down the music and the heat to a more manageable level. Rodney glanced at him when he did it but didn't comment.

"The Stargate itself has been back up and running for a while now but it's the Atlantis expedition they've only recently decided to revive," the scientist explained.

"No thanks to you, I suppose?" John suggested with a hint of amusement, immediately sorry for it when Rodney took his focus off the road for a fraction of a second to smile over at him.

"They tell me it's so I can continue moving forward with my wormhole drive research and to keep our Pegasus space exploration efforts alive, but I have a different theory," he replied conspiratorially before focusing his attention back on the road.

"Oh yeah," John asked and grabbed the bar above the window near his head at the next turn. He wasn't going to be able to take much more of this.

"I think they want to take Atlantis back to Pegasus because they're hoping they can find a weapon there that's big enough to defend Earth but doesn't require someone with an Ancient gene to power it. I suspect they're worried about old threats too, though if the Goa'uld or someone else was going to attack us at our weakest, they're about 18 years too late." The scientist snorted, but his ideas did have some merit. With a large chunk of the population gone now, he knew he was at the top of a very short list of individuals who could make the more powerful Ancient devices work. "And I guess they figure now that the Wraith have been decimated, they might have a better shot at it."

"What about this new power source you mentioned?" John inquired, thinking back on their conversation from last night. "What is it?"

"Now that part's a surprise. It's more something you'd have to see to believe," Rodney said with another conspiratorial smirk and John was about to push for more details but they were coming up to a working fuel station and he figured now was as good a time as any to make his move for the driver's seat.

John glanced over at the gas gauge as inconspicuously as he could and saw that it was hovering just below half a tank. It would only take them another hour or two to reach the airport and half a tank was plenty of fuel to get their little hybrid there, but maybe he could still convince McKay to stop and relinquish the wheel.

"Hey, pull over at that Marathon station coming up," he more ordered than suggested and pointed out the fuel station through the windshield.

Rodney eased his foot of the accelerator and squinted down at the gas gauge. "Why? Gotta pee already? I told you, you should have..."

"Rodney, would you just pull the damn car over like I asked?" He hadn't meant for it to sound so mean, but they were about to fly past the gas station entrance and neither John nor his stomach was going to be able to make it to the next stopping place.

"Alright, FINE!" Rodney glared over at him but did as John asked and took the turn into the Marathon so fast, two of the hybrid's tires practically lifted from the ground. The handful of people filling their tanks in the weak winter light turned their heads in John and Rodney's direction and one little boy pointed over at them before tugging on his mother's skirt to get her attention and whisper something up at her. Rodney screeched to a halt in front of an empty space at the pumps and put the car in park as John scrabbled for the door release. Theirs was a hybrid, just like everyone else's in the lot, but Rodney drove his like it was a Ferrari bound for some international speedway.

John got out of the car as quickly as he could on unsteady legs and headed for the gas station's small store and as far away from McKay as he could get, not sure he wouldn't have throttled his friend had he gotten the chance. The town they were in was small and the fuel station was just a rural little side of the road joint, but the owner had a nice assortment of sodas and John chose a dusty old bottle of coke from off the shelf. The little store didn't have any coolers (it was either too small or just too poor for such a luxury in these rural parts) but the elderly woman behind the counter was friendly enough and she took his money with a wink and the brightest, most unapologetic toothless grin John had ever seen. He paid for the drinks, having remembered to grab a bottle of diet for Rodney, and walked back out into the cold after thanking the woman. Frigid air stung his recently shaved face and John ran a hand over the smooth skin of his chin with a sigh of regret. Rodney had refused to let him even get into the car until he had shaved it off and he missed the beard already.

He'd liked it; it kept him warm for one thing and he hiked the collar of his hunting jacket up higher around his throat with a dejected grumble.

At some point while John had been in the store it had started snowing outside and great white flakes of it were swirling about in the wind. The little boy he'd seen earlier was running around the lot trying to catch the flakes with his tongue and Rodney was leaning against the hood of the hybrid when he returned watching the child with a faraway look in his eye. John handed him the bottle of pop which the scientist accepted with an absentminded nod.

"Ever wish you'd had some, Rodney?" He asked, pointing over at the kid having a grand old time and startling McKay out of some deep thought.

"Who says I didn't?" The scientist asked abruptly, snapping his head in John's direction then looking away just as quickly with a cringe like he'd just let something slip he hadn't meant to.

"Now wait just a goddamn damn minute, McKay," John stammered, flabbergasted at what his friend had just let slip. "You have _kids_?"

It had been 18 years, and crazier things _had_ happened in the world, but Rodney just kept looking away and continued to watch the child play without comment.

"Rodney?" He nudged carefully, afraid he'd broken the man or something but Rodney came out of whatever it was and heaved a sigh as he rounded on John with a forced smile John didn't buy for a second.

"Ready to go?" Rodney asked and John wasn't sure whether he should keep pushing or give the scientist the out he was obviously hoping for.

John settled on the latter.

"I'm ready, but why don't I drive for a while?" He suggested casually enough but all the while steeling himself for the fit he knew McKay was about to pitch.

"What? Why? I was doing just fine!" The scientist exclaimed, affronted by the suggestion and even going so far as to clutch the key ring close to his chest like he half expected John to try and take it from him by force. It was a move so reminiscent of the old McKay that John found himself almost starting to laugh.

"Rodney, 133 is the highway we're on, not the speed limit."

"I know that!" The scientist protested. "And I was not going that fast, Sheppard!"

"The hell you weren't!" John let his voice rise even though he wasn't really mad and glared over at Rodney. "Now hand 'em over, McKay." John put a hand out to show he wasn't kidding but Rodney stepped back and away from him a few paces, apparently affronted by the entire situation.

"Please?" He tried again and the scientist reluctantly caved.

"Fine," he threw back angrily, slapping the key ring into John's outstretched palm. "I'll let you drive, but only because I'm the better navigator and if I don't man the maps, there's no telling where we'll end up."

"Whatever you need to tell yourself, buddy." John muttered back under his breath but Rodney heard it and glowered at him all the way to the passenger side and continued on even as John folded himself in behind the wheel of the hybrid and started up the vehicle with a press of a button. He hadn't driven a car that small in years and it was an automatic and not a manual like his truck had been. Still, it was nice to have some horsepower beneath his feet that didn't actually sound like a heard of draft horses galloping down the freeway.

Tank topped off and Rodney sufficiently put in his place enough to shut him up for a while, John eased the hybrid back out onto Hwy 133 and set the cruise control at a more legal level. That didn't stop Rodney from leaning over a moment later to see where the speedometer was hovering at though and the scientist let out a derisive snort before settling himself back into his seat with arms crossed.

"At this rate it'll take us all day to get back to Milwaukee," he mumbled and John looked over at him with a wry smile.

"But at least I'll get us there in one piece, McKay," he volleyed back, but Rodney just looked away without comment and out his window to watch the brown Wisconsin farmland flash by.

"So," John said after a few uneasy minutes of silence, "you didn't want to go back to Canada after the War ended?"

"How could I?" Rodney snapped back and John wondered briefly if it had really been the best idea to make Rodney give up the driver seat.

"Calm down Rodney, it was just a question!" He pushed back, his surprise coloring the words angry.

"I'm sorry John," the scientist apologized genuinely a second later as his bluster deflated a little. "I just forget sometimes that you don't know about everything that happened after you left." Rodney paused then, as if steeling himself to deliver difficult news.

"After the War ended, I found out from a family member that Jeannie and Madison were culled by the Wraith. Her husband managed to get away but I have no idea what happened to him."

"Jesus, Rodney. I'm sorry." He looked over at his friend, suddenly feeling sick and completely unworthy of even being in the same car as Rodney. The scientist's reply had sucked all the oxygen out of the hybrid and punched John directly in gut and his next words came out on barely enough breath for a whisper.

"...You must really hate me."

Rodney looked over at him sharply but if he had any hatred there behind his eyes for John he managed to erase it before looking up.

"Of course I don't hate you. No one _hates_ you, Sheppard, or blames you for what happened, for that matter. Be reasonable." Rodney said the words convincingly enough but went back to looking out his window as quickly as he could and John wasn't entirely sure he believed him. He opened his mouth a few times to try and find the right words to respond with, some apology to give his friend that made up for his loss, but gave up a few minutes later with a weary sigh. Perhaps coming back to this life wasn't the best idea after all.

"Tell me about Landry," John said abruptly to change the subject. "What's the guy like?"

Rodney seemed grateful for the new topic and started off immediately. "Fair... and smart too, which is a nice bonus compared to some of the other people they considered running the SGC."

"They didn't ask you to do it?" John inquired, cocking a sardonic eyebrow in Rodney's direction. The scientist just laughed dryly and shook his head.

"I'm not what they would consider, "upper management material" or some such rubbish. At least that's what they told me.

Truth be told I didn't want it. As great an asset as I would make, I'm more interested in the science."

"Did you and Jennifer ever end up getting married?" John asked, hoping it was okay to bring up the fledgling romance Rodney had had with the doctor the last time they'd seen each other. It seemed to be and Rodney smiled a little.

"No, actually. We figured that, after everything that had happened, it was best just to part ways, but I did end up getting married. Her name was Diane and we were together for about 6 years."

"How'd you two meet?"

"She was an engineer helping out at the SGC. We didn't last long though. Got divorced a couple of years ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Rodney," and he really was.

"Eh, I'm not. It was nice while it lasted and we still talk sometimes."

"Kids?" He broached the subject again but could tell when Rodney tensed that it was the wrong thing to do. He stayed silent and let Rodney decide how he'd play it out.

"Not with Diane," he answered carefully. "But let's talk about that once we get back to Cheyenne Mountain, okay?"

Cheyenne Mountain, John had almost forgotten about that place.

At first the plan had been to go with Rodney back to New York City and meet with the current members of the IOA and General Landry there, but McKay had made a phone call or two after John had agreed to come back with him last night and now they were on their way to the old Stargate Command to meet Landry there. The Cheyenne Mountain Complex had been the first military installation the Wraith had tried to destroy at the start of the War and John had never been able to find out its fate. Apparently now he would.

"That place is still standing, huh?" he asked.

"Indeed. The Wraith did a number on it trying to destroy the gate, but they rebuilt. It still looks pretty much the same as before."

"I bet that's weird," he offered, trying to maintain the friendly atmosphere they had fallen back into, "having it look the same when everything else has changed so much, I mean. It's going to be really weird being back there again."

"It was a shock, I'll give you that." Rodney replied, fiddling with the seat belt crossed over his chest.

"What about SG-1? Whatever happened to them?"

"Well," Rodney started, dropping his hand from the belt to let it rest in his lap again, "Dr. Jackson is still around, but he took The Culling and what happened afterwards really hard and is pretty much a recluse these days, though he does occasionally still help out. Teal'c went back to the Jaffa and has been busy knocking out the remaining Goa'uld in the galaxy and Colonel Mitchell and Sam Carter were murdered shortly after the war ended."

"Shit." He sputtered as he gripped the steering wheel tightly, utterly floored at the news he was hearing. "Murdered?" The word felt foreign and heavy in his mouth, like it had no business there.

"Yeah," Rodney sighed heavily, "there were never any suspects but he and Sam were helping me bring down the people responsible for what happened. We think someone had them killed when we started getting too close to the truth."

"We?"

"General O'Neill and I."

"I see. How'd they die?" He asked somberly, sorry to pose the question of Rodney and not sure he even wanted to hear the answer. He had to though, it was important he know. Cameron and Sam's deaths... those were on him for having run away rather than staying behind to fight and bring down those responsible. Their blood was on his hands and he deserved to hear and absorb every last horrible detail about their deaths from the man sitting in the seat beside him and looking sadly out his window.

"It was an explosion. Someone planted a car bomb and it killed them instantly."

"I'm sorry, Rodney," he said quietly and hoped the man understood the double meaning behind his words. "God, I'm so sorry." And he was. Sorrier than anyone would ever know and he wondered then why the SGC was even offering to let him lead the Atlantis Expedition and take the city home to Pegasus. Sure, there were extenuating circumstances surrounding his past actions, but those actions were still borderline incomprehensible and while he hadn't been the one to give the order to pull the trigger, he'd still let lose the bullets and he still had all that blood on his hands. John would fly Atlantis back home like he'd promised, but he wasn't sure he could stay there and lead the Expedition afterwards, not with the past to heavy around his neck like a noose about to pull tight and snap his neck at any moment. No, a promotion and a position of honor were too good an end for him and he deserved to be cast out and exiled.

And hadn't he just done that to himself for 18 years? He'd built a cabin around himself, but it was just a prison to hold him until he was lead to the gallows.

"You think too loud," Rodney said suddenly but John kept his eyes trained on the road ahead of him, embarrassed to have been called out. "I meant what I said earlier and last night, Sheppard. I've forgiven everything that happened in the past and nobody blames you for any of the things that happened back then. There isn't a single person at the SGC who doesn't want you to come back and be a part of this."

Rodney hadn't said 'world'; that there wasn't a single person in the entire _world_ who didn't want him to come back and knowing Rodney to not be the kind of man who minced words, John was suddenly troubled. So there was descent outside the SGC about him coming back. He could only wonder who that might have been.

"You're doing it again," Rodney chided and John finally allowed himself a glance over at his friend. Rodney was turned in his seat studying him closely and John shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. "I can hear you all the way over here."

"Alright, McKay," he replied with a forced laugh, "I get it."

Rodney, placated for the moment, nodded then turned away again. "Well, I told you all about my pathetic past, what have you been up to for the past 18 years?"

John was eager for another change in subject but the direction Rodney had just taken them in was dangerous. What had John been doing for the last 18 years? Well, that answer was complicated and not altogether strange. But to admit to the things he'd seen and done in his years away would be to practically hand Rodney a road map to the dark truths about the state he was in after that damn War, and he wasn't entirely sure he was ready (or able) to talk about all that just yet. Still, he was going to have to face the answers someday soon, and he had a choice now if that was going to be with Rodney here in the tiny little hybrid humming down the interstate, or back at the SGC in front of people he didn't know. If John opened up to Rodney right now, he was fairly certain the scientist would brief General Landry on everything he said and that might save John from having to do it himself and in the company of strangers.

"It wasn't that difficult a question, John," Rodney said gently from the passenger seat and John chewed at his bottom lip, something he hadn't done in years. "Where did you go? What happened that day?"

The way Rodney posed the questions had John letting go of any trepidation he had at sharing a little of his past. If anything, he owed Rodney an explanation as to why he'd left and where he'd gone after the War when the scientist had so obviously needed him back at the SGC to bring down the animals responsible for what he'd been made to do. He was angry at himself, he realized, for missing that part, for not being around to see the looks on the faces of the men who'd given the order when they were arrested, or whatever else might have been done to them. He would have given anything to watch them be crucified for what they had made him do, but he'd run and left that task to others. Others who had given their very lives to do what it was John should have been around to do himself.

"They airlifted me to a trauma center in Denver after the crash," he started a little introspectively and adjusted his hands on the steering wheel when he noticed he'd been gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles had gone white. He stretched the offended fingers out and wiggled them absently to restore the blood flow.

"I was in pretty rough shape and Carson tried to come with me but this Sergeant I'd never seen before showed up at the last minute and ordered him off the helicopter."

John could still remember the fight Carson had put up too: the man reaching for him even as the helicopter lifted from the tarmac on the Sergeant's barked orders and three armed MPs held the doctor back bodily.

John shuddered.

"I knew right then and there that I wasn't going to make it to that hospital alive. The IOA, they knew I'd figured out what it was they had done, and they were going to use the chaos after The Culling to shut me up for good."

"Carson told me a little about that," Rodney interjected. "He was convinced for a long time that you were dead, even when I gave him the hospital records showing you had arrived at the hospital and had surgery on your knee."

"I was pretty surprised I had even made it _that_ far," he admitted. "That sergeant must not have gotten his chance on the helicopter 'cause I woke up in recovery and was able to get myself out of there before they could try again." He fidgeted in his seat a little then when the injuries in question throbbed as if they knew they were being discussed. He'd limped out of that place and done some irrevocable damage to his knee, but 18 years of self-prescribed physical therapy had gotten it pretty much back up to snuff except for the errant twinge here and there over the years when the past crept back into recesses of his mind like it was doing now.

"Anyway, I got out and stuck to hiding out in state parks for a while after that. The government had pulled everyone involved in law enforcement in to focus on trying to deal with the aftermath of The Culling and I hardly saw another human being there for a few years. I hitched across the country once everything finally started to calm down and tried a few different small towns here and there and eventually settled in the one you and the USSF found me in." There was more to those years, so much more, but it was nothing Rodney, or anyone else at the SGC, needed to ever know about.

"Blue River Wisconsin, huh? I didn't even know they made towns that small." Rodney joked, throwing John a smile to try and lighten the mood a little.

"Hey, don't knock it," he laughed back with his own smirk. "It was a nice little town with good people." People he would miss too, but he'd never admit that to Rodney. Hell, he'd barely admit it to himself.

"So, did _you_ marry? Have any kids?" Rodney asked, apparently believing turnabout to be fair play.

"No, McKay," He answered back with a reproachful glance in the scientist's direction. "Nothing like that."

"You at least had a girl though, right? The great Captain Kirk?" Rodney smiled with a raised eyebrow. "Come on, Sheppard. I know you and besides you said she broke the window on your front door."

Sighing and knowing it was no use, John answered. "I had this... on-again/off-again thing with a woman in town, but it was no big deal, McKay." Heat rose a little on his cheeks and he coughed to hide it.

"What was her name?" Rodney sang, undeterred.

"Wouldn't you just like to know," he answered back and Rodney snorted.

"Give it up, Sheppard. Gimme the details." Rodney was sitting forward in his seat like some giddy school kid desperate for gossip about his best friend's first real kiss with a girl. John, knowing the scientist wasn't going to give up until he at least gave him something to chew on, shook his head in defeat.

"Her name was Carrie Sinclair and she was a waitress at one of the restaurant's in town."

"But it wasn't serious enough for you to tell me to get lost." Rodney stated rather than asked and John lost any amusement he had with the line of questioning.

"It's complicated," was all he said and Rodney chuckled dryly.

"But isn't it always like that with you, Sheppard?" he said roguishly, eyeing John again.

"So, did you love her?"

John choked on the sip of lukewarm coke he'd just taken and the car swerved off the road slightly, kicking up dust from the graveled shoulder as he fumbled to put the bottle back in the cup holder and regain control over the car. He yanked the wheel savagely, got all four tires back up onto the highway blacktop, then turned in his seat as much as he could to glare disbelievingly over at Rodney.

This time when the scientist laughed, it was genuine.

"I'm sorry, John," he choked with tears nearly streaming down his face, "I was just curious."

Apparently John's careen off the side of the road was all the answer Rodney had needed and the scientist didn't ask the question again, though John wanted him to; wanted the opportunity to vehemently deny that no, he did not love her, but to bring it up himself would practically be an admission. Besides, he wasn't sure what he would call the thing he had with Carrie and he wasn't about to give Rodney McKay any more ammunition than he already had. Rodney McKay had never been all that great with guns to begin with.

"Knock it off, McKay," he growled when he looked back over at the scientist to find him still smiling away and laughing quietly to himself.

"I didn't say anything," Rodney said back innocently then went back to watching the scenery pass outside his window in silence.

They didn't talk much after that, and John was kind of glad for it. Rodney asked him a few more questions about some of the odd jobs he'd taken over the years and offered a little bit about the different directions his research had taken since they'd last seen each other, but other than that Rodney left John alone with his thoughts.

It was funny, John mused, but the Rodney McKay of old would have filled the hours they spent in the hybrid with all manner of babble, but the Rodney McKay he had in the car with him now was different somehow. This version was quieter and more perceptive which John couldn't decide was a blessing or a curse. But if it meant he could cruise down the highway letting mindless country songs twang out of the car speakers in silence, he'd take any version of Rodney McKay the universe decided to throw at him. Besides, his mind was back in Blue River and the woman that would soon discover that John was not planning on coming back to her.

John and Rodney arrived at General Mitchell International Airport an hour or so later and McKay directed him to the far end of the airport where the USSF had taken over one whole terminal complete with private entrance and all the usual fanfare. Before the war the airport had been used by both civilian airlines and the military and while Rodney had explained that the airport had been opened back up to the public as well, all John saw in their little secluded section of the facility was a sea of military issued dress. It was strange to see such completely different uniforms and insignia than what he was used to and John couldn't help but wonder how it was he was going to handle all the changes the government had made; though he was happy to see that medals and service awards hadn't changed at all. The thought of there not being an Air Force or an Army or any of the other branches anymore was bizarre but he figured he could understand the need for a consolidated force, at least for now. It was just going to take him awhile to get used to it.

Rodney took care of all their travel arrangements and left John standing in the middle of the terminal holding their carry-on baggage beneath a large and rather impressive reproduction of an old-time clock. Not that John had anything to check. His life had been condensed down to the one duffel he had clutched in his hand and he wasn't used to being so out of his element. Rodney was flitting about the place speaking to various officials and John stood lost in a sea of dark grey and khaki camouflage wondering how things could have changed so very much. He wasn't really sure what he'd been expecting. The United States had lost a third of its entire population and you didn't come out on the other side of something like that unchanged. In fact, it was a miracle he was standing in a fully functional airport in the first place. There were so many different directions things could have gone after The Great Culling and the world seemed to have pulled itself out of the catastrophe with only minor alterations and John was glad of it. It had been Armageddon in those first few months after he'd ended the War and he'd been worried about the human race for a while there.

John watched the disinterested faces streaming by him and wondered how many of the soldiers going about their business that day in the busy airport terminal knew his name. He had a sneaky suspicion, had anyone but Rodney and General Landry known he was coming out of seclusion today, he wouldn't have been traveling so openly. While the civilian population knew very little about what exactly had happened with the Wraith, there were people involved in all the branches of the military on Atlantis the day when all hell had broken loose, and John was no fool. He knew a lot of those people blamed him for all the lives lost that day, though he had enough blame and self loathing for himself to last a lifetime.

Rodney marched up to John a moment later and pulled him away from his dark thoughts. The scientist handed him a paper ticket and a brand new military ID.

"Welcome back to the land of the living Colonel John Sheppard," Rodney said a little quietly, glancing around to make sure no one had heard him use the name and John took the new ID the scientist was holding out to him. "John Evans can officially go back into obscurity."

Rodney was poking fun at the name he'd gone by for the last 18 years but John didn't smile back as he looked down to study the ID clutched in his hand. They'd used an old photo of him and it was one with grey free hair, a wickedly cunning grin and none of the deep lines that now resided around his eyes, and John's hands shook a little as he stared down at that face from his past. That man had been one cocky son-of-a-bitch and completely certain of the future; that man had followed orders blindly, and if John could have, he would have reached through the photo right then and there and punched the face of the ass smiling up at him smugly without a friggin' care in the world. As it was though, all he could do was stand there staring as he trembled under the weight of a long repressed past.

"Our flight to Colorado leaves in 20 so we've got just enough time to get to the gate, then a helicopter will take us on to Cheyenne Mountain from there," Rodney was explaining to him when he finally looked up again from the photo.

"You ready, John?"

John tucked the ticket and his new ID into the back pocket of his jeans and looked back over at his friend.

"As I'll ever be."


	7. Reunions

John hadn't flown in a plane or a helicopter since right after the War had ended and while he managed to get through the commercial flight out of Milwaukee just fine (half wishing he could have suggested he fly the plane himself) the helicopter ride they would take from the Denver airport over to Cheyenne Mountain was a completely different story.

The bird they were taking was an old, decommissioned Black Hawk; a craft John had trained on extensively in his early days with the Air Force and one he could remember particularly enjoying flying. Yet as soon as he pulled himself up into the back of the helicopter and took a seat in her rear compartment, the small spaces around him seemed to press in on him from every angle and it was all John could do to get the headset over his ears as the memories of the last helicopter ride he'd taken pushed themselves out of the dark boxes he normally kept them hidden in and clawed their way up to the forefront of his mind.

It was like being in that damn hunting blind all over again and John wiped damp palms against his jeans.

The last time John had been in the back of a helicopter like this he had been certain he was about to die - very nearly had - and he found himself breaking out into a cold sweat, just like before when he had been unable to shoot that deer. John was glad then that he had his aviator sunglasses on to obscure his face because he could feel another one of those damn panic attacks gathering strength at his center and he didn't dare let Rodney or the pilot (or the random Captain they were giving a lift to) see what was happening to him just behind those reflective lenses. John had been through countless battles, some of them bloody and brutal, and yet all it took anymore to send him over the edge, it seemed, were memories - and it was starting to piss him off.

Rodney pulled himself up into the helicopter behind John on arthritic knees and, with a grimace, busied himself with stretching out the offended joints long enough for John to try and hide the evidence of his current state. Only it wasn't working and the scientist must have sensed something was off with him because a few seconds later, when he finally cast John a sidelong glance, Rodney did a double take in his direction. If John hadn't been about to come apart at the seams, the maneuver would almost have made him laugh.

"Everything alright?" The physicist asked over the headset and John cringed inwardly knowing the pilot and their guest in the front of the craft would have heard the question too.

"Never better," he lied with a fake smile and prayed Rodney wouldn't push the matter further. He thankfully didn't and John spent the next hour or so in a white knuckled terror he didn't understand.

This used to be his element, for heaven's sake; the sky the one place in all the world where he could go to forget about everything and just be. But it was like all that was lost to him suddenly and he didn't know how to get it back. He was a soldier and a survivor, so why were memories of the explosion that should have killed him and the helicopter ride with the would be assassin who nearly had, enough to bring him to his knees?

John knew his hands were shaking with the strain of keeping it all internal, but he hid one beneath a leg then wrapped the other more tightly around the bar above the window near his head and tried desperately not to give any outward sign of the internal struggle raging just beneath his skin. Rodney was shooting him glances every few seconds but John was fairly certain the shakes and rattles of the bird in flight were enough to camouflage what was happening to him.

But no matter what he did or how hard he tried, memories came crashing down on him again and again in waves so strong nothing he did seemed to be able to keep his head above water long enough to get things under control. Every time he tried, his brain would conjure an image more terrible than the last: Teyla and Ronan and the moment he walked into that god-forsaken room to find them both dead at the hands of the advancing Wraith, the exact earth shattering, heart pounding instant when he'd realized what those bastards had made him do and crashed Atlantis into the waters just beside the Golden Gate Bridge because he couldn't control her decent any longer, the explosion that followed soon after to tear him apart with shrapnel and rip through the tendons of his leg to nearly kill him. The barrage was relentless and John nearly shot up out of his seat when the pilot came over the radio to announce that they were nearing the mountain's helipad and Rodney's head snapped in his direction again. He pretended to look out the window and watch the pilot's approach, but in reality he just closed his eyes against the onslaught of unwanted remembrance and prayed that he wouldn't lose what little he'd had for lunch right there in the back of the helicopter. He could feel Rodney's concerned gaze on him at all times now, but like that day back in the blind with Eddie, he ignored the scrutiny as best he could, trying desperately to appear in control, and sent out silent pleas to the universe to just please not have Rodney push him in that moment.

Mercifully, he didn't and John pulled every last bit of himself inward to try and regain control.

Their pilot landed the Black Hawk skillfully enough so as not to jostle its occupants too badly and John uncemented his aching hand from around the handlebar when he could breathe a little easier to wait for his turn to disembark. Rodney eyed him curiously once more before removing his headset and allowing the pilot to help him down out of the rear compartment of the helicopter but John hesitated before moving.

This was some kind of 'point of no return' he was approaching and he knew if he went any further, the prospects of his leaving this place of his own free will diminished significantly. There were people in the mountain who would do anything they could to get him to stay and pilot Atlantis back to Pegasus and they would have a lot more ammunition to use against him than just Rodney McKay trying to get his way.

Three pairs of concerned eyes peered into the rear of the helicopter at him as he sat glued to his seat and John fought back a wave of nausea. No, this was his course, his life, and whether seated in the Atlantis Control Chair hurtling her past the stars or hiding in his backwoods cabin in rural Wisconsin, it was never, ever going to be normal so he might as well just go along for the ride. Steeling his resolve and thankful that the worst of his panic attack seemed to have subsided, John hoisted himself up from his seat and refused help from the pilot as he jumped down from the back of the Black Hawk and onto the tarmac.

The air up in the mountains was bitingly cold, but it was clear and fresh and John turned his head into the wind to get a good blast of it right in the face. It froze the sweat still clinging to his brow instantly and tightened his skin till it stung, but he would take a feeling like that any day of the week over the debilitating panic of the helicopter a few minutes ago. Their pilot wished them all a good afternoon and then climbed back into the bird before restarting her rotors to take off again.

John, the unnamed Major, and Rodney made their way through the wind and over to a door cut into the very side of the mountain that lead into the Cheyenne Mountain Complex and they were stopped at a checkpoint just inside. The young kid who took John's ID from him let his eyes go wide for a fraction of a second as he read the name on the badge. John had been hoping to be a relative unknown to the staff in Cheyenne, seeing as how most of her personnel were new recruits who maybe had never heard John's name before, but he was realizing pretty quickly that it had been nothing more than a naive hope. The kid didn't make eye contact, but John could tell by the way his hands trembled slightly as he handed the badge back to John, that he wanted to... and that news of his arrival would be spread around the base in a matter of hours. John took the ID back with a resigned sigh then held out his arms so the other guard at the checkpoint could waive his hand held wand over John's extremities. This soldier was older and looked John over with the interest of a guard taking his job seriously, not some overexcited new recruit, and John thanked the man for his time when the soldier let him through without comment and handed him his duffle on the other side.

John had never entered the Cheyenne complex from the helipad entrance like this before and their little band of travelers marched down corridors he wasn't familiar with in relative silence, Rodney leading the way for the most part. John spent most of the time trying to calm his nerves from the helicopter ride and by the time the Major they had been traveling with separated from them with a quick 'afternoon gentlemen', John was pretty much back to normal and Rodney lead them further into the mountain before finally stopping in front of a bank of elevators.

Now these John recognized: from the card reader fastened to the wall against the yellow and black striped boarder to the blue/green tinge of the elevator door's metal. Even the ubiquitous blue, green and red stripes on the floor that no one had ever been able to give him an adequate explanation for were there leading away from the elevator banks to places unknown and John found himself smiling for the first time since all this had started. It was a genuine smile, too, and not just one conjured for someone else's benefit.

This was really happening.

The SGC had saved John from a life of obscurity. He had been destined for a career exiled to the vast arctic tundra surrounding McMurdo and only a happy accident had brought him here in the first place all those years ago. He could still remember the feel of that chair lighting up beneath him and the thrum of the activated Ancient gene humming along excitedly in his bloodstream like it had finally found its purpose. John's life had never been the same after that… and yet he couldn't help but wish that none of it had ever happened. If it hadn't, then he never would have awoken the Wraith en masse his first week on the job, the location of Earth would never have been received by the entire Wraith fleet, and John Sheppard would not have been remembered as the man responsible for one of the worst tragedies in human history. So yes, the SGC had saved him from a life of exile, but at what cost?

The unhindered smile that had been playing at the corners of John's mouth fell away then and he knew it would not return again, not truly.

The elevator arrived on their level with an official sounding ding and admitted them in with a loud declaration of what floor they were on (a new feature he noted). Rodney pushed a blank white card into the reader above the double bank of numbers then pushed in a floor number very near the bottom of the panel. It was something John himself had done a million times before in another life and yet he couldn't help but watch Rodney perform the mundane task with just the slightest hint of jealousy. But that jealousy was unfounded, he concluded a moment later.

What it came right down to was, John didn't _deserve_ to be here. If anyone had put in the work to bring justice to the decimated people of Earth, it was Rodney McKay and he was the one who deserved to head the Atlantis Expedition, not John. He was the one who deserved to be paraded around by the IOA as their golden boy, but he wouldn't be because there was only one thing left in the universe separating John Sheppard from Rodney McKay in that moment that really mattered to the people here, and that was the gene in his blood capable of flying whole cities through space. John was the prodigy without the heart and he shifted uncomfortably on his feet beside Rodney as the elevator plunged them down into the bowels of Cheyenne Mountain, leaving John's stomach in the levels above.

When the doors opened again several miles beneath the mountain, it was on to the aging but smiling face of Dr. Carson Beckett.

"Bloody hell, so the rumors _are_ true! The infamous Colonel John Sheppard has returned," the Scott declared in thick Scottish brogue with a smile so bright that practically lit the corridor around him and was nothing but teeth. John exited the elevator with his hand out, beyond pleased to see his old friend again, but the Scott just knocked the hand away and pulled John into hug that had him stiffening and looking over to Rodney for help. The scientist had stepped off the elevator behind him and was watching the exchange a few feet away with amusement in his eyes but with no help to offer. Carson, either oblivious to his discomfort or just not giving a damn, pulled away a moment later to grin at him brightly but didn't release the hold he had on either one of his arms as if he expected John would make a break for it the moment he did.

"Come now, let me get a good look at you. I thought for sure they'd killed ya, John. When that soldier kicked me off that medevac helicopter, I dinnea expect I'd ever see ya again..." John had never been good at scenes like this, he was too internal, too private to be any good at it, and McKay was no help at all, standing off to their left and shaking a little with silent laughter at Carson's response to their reunion.

John broke Beckett's hold on one of his arms and clapped a hand on the man's shoulder. "It's good to see you too, Doc," he offered genuinely and Carson beamed at him for a second more before clearing his throat thickly and looking away to address Rodney as if hide the fact that his emotions had gotten the better of him for a moment.

"So, did he give ya any trouble then, Rodney?" The Scott asked and McKay nodded vigorously.

"Oh of course," he joked. "I practically had to drag him back kicking and screaming."

"Weel, I'd expect nothing less from our Colonel Sheppard," Carson laughed, looking back over at John and squeezing the one arm he still had trapped. "It's mighty good ta have ya back, lad."

"Thanks Carson. It's good to be back. Been too long."

"Aye," the doc replied sadly, losing a little of his cheer, "that it has, laddie."

"Carson, I was going to take him to see Landry right away, do you know if the General's back yet?" Rodney asked, saving the moment, and Carson finally dropped his hold on John's arm to turn towards the scientist.

"Oh aye, he got back a few hours before you two did. I suspect he'll be waiting for you up in his office.

And you," Carson stated, turning his undivided attention back to John once again and reaching for the duffel he'd let fall to the floor near his feet, "I'll take this to your quarters then and you and I can catch up tonight over a pint at the Officer's Club, a'right?" and John reluctantly let the doctor abscond with his bag. Carson must have picked up on his apprehension because he put a hand on John's arm again. "Dinnea worry yourself, Colonel. I'll take good care of it for ya," the Scott said with a wink then disappeared down the corridor with nothing more than a wave over his head with a hand.

John watched Carson disappear around a corner then turned back to Rodney. "Officer's club?" He asked with eyebrows raised.

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Believe it or not, someone brought all 11 seasons of M*A*S*H to the base a while ago and some of us have been watching them in the mess after hours. They built an officer's club in one of the episodes and someone got it into their heads that the SGC needed one for some reason. It's not just for officer's though, everyone uses it."

"Seriously?" He half laughed, amused at the thought that the SGC now had a full functioning bar somewhere on one of her levels. "They let you do that?" How times had changed. You used to have to go into the small town that had sprung up around the base to get anything that wasn't secretly hidden at the bottom of someone's locked desk drawer. He'd have to take Carson up on that drink and see what the place was like.

"For some reason, they approved it, though I don't for the life of me understand why. I'm sure you'll hear all about it tonight if you want to go." Rodney explained with a shrug. "But come on, let's get this meeting with Landry over with."

John fell into step behind Rodney and let the scientist lead him in the direction of the General's office without further comment. He could have found the way on his own blindfolded and in the dark, but Rodney had an air about him like he was taking this job to bring John in very seriously and John wasn't about to steal the guy's thunder. It was the least he figured he could do for his old friend in light of what had happened in the past. And the fact that Rodney was practically radiating with self-importance as he marched them towards the Gateroom and the General's office situated nearby, was just icing on the cake.

The pair passed clumps of soldiers here and there on the way and John realized he didn't know how to address any of them, their insignias completely unfamiliar to him. Some adornments hinted at the old systems of the past, but they were guesses at best and he could have come face to face with one of the highest ranking officials on base and not even know it. But he had a sneaky suspicion he wasn't going to be allowed anywhere near Atlantis without some serious instruction and training first and his bad knee twinged a bit just thinking about it.

Each individual or group they passed on their way to Landry's office always greeted McKay with friendly and respectful deference but then their gazes would often linger on John for a second or two afterwards like they were unsure of what to make of the civilian following along behind the aging doctor dressed in jeans and a polo shirt. Some of them recognized him right away. Others furrowed their brows at his familiarity then continued to watch him even after they'd passed with glances over their shoulders, and some barely even registered his presence at all. Someone had given the lower levels the heads up that he was on his way and it was interesting to see who had been privy to that specific information and who hadn't... and who was just surprised to see an old face from the past that had not been seen in the SGC for nearly twenty years.

If Rodney noticed the attention John was getting, he didn't say anything and kept walking with head held high, offering friendly greeting back to anyone who said hello. John was happy to see that Rodney had seemingly settled into himself finally and was a little more at home in his own skin. The McKay of old had always seemed unsure of himself somehow, even though he tried to hide it with false bravado and irritatingly pure arrogance, but John could tell that was no longer the case. Besides, he figured, the things they'd been through - both together and apart - were enough to irrevocable alter either of them and John was just glad that Rodney's alterations all seemed to be for the better. He hadn't fallen into drugs or alcohol abuse (that John could see anyway, and he could usually spot that shit from miles off) though the man had certainly been through enough to warrant some kind of vice. But the Rodney McKay walking a few steps ahead of him seemed to have embraced his misfortune and come out on the other side of it relatively unscathed... at least on the surface. John would have to make sure he dug a little deeper at some point because if McKay was broken somewhere deep inside where no one could see, it was all of it due to Him, and he owed it to his friend to at least try and fix it somehow.

John lost himself in these thoughts for a minute or two and almost didn't notice when they came upon the heavy blast door concealing the SGC's Embarkation Room. It was closed off at the moment but John could just picture the cavernous room beyond and the imposing grey Stargate that sat tall and ominous at its center. He would be able to see the gate when they made their way up the stairs to the General's office and he almost shivered at the thought. He never would have thought in a million years that he would be in this place again or that, in however many days it took the SGC to be satisfied he could fly Atlantis back home without cracking up, that he would be headed back in to all of this. It was like coming full circle and, were it not for the events of the past that had brought him to this moment, he could have almost enjoyed it. But as it was, it wasn't eager anticipation that flooded his system as he approached the stairs leading up to the Stargate control room, but a twinge of dread and just the slightest hint of grief.

Yet even though long years had passed since he'd last seen the place, everything looked pretty much the same up in the control room and John had to pause at the top of the stairs for a moment to remind himself that he had not suddenly been yanked up off his feet and hurtled back into the past.

As soon as he recovered and ambled forward a few steps to get a good look at the Stargate through the glass, a slightly bent and completely bald figure pushed away from the main computer (much more high-tech and streamlined than John remembered it being) and rose slowly with some assistance from the young man sitting next to him. It took John a moment to recognize the wrinkled features, but as soon as Walter Davis' face broke out into a smile at the sight of John, all the years fell away from the familiar yet elderly face.

"Colonel John Sheppard!" The old man exclaimed, shuffling forward with hand outstretched. "As I live and breathe! How the heck are you, Sir?"

If this were any other time and the Wraith War hadn't decimated the population of Earth, Walter Davis would have been off enjoying retirement, probably somewhere warm. But he was as much a victim of the past as John was and the expertise of the bent figure standing before him with hand outstretched in happy greeting, was still very much in demand. John shook his hand warmly with a bit of sadness settling in around him.

"Master Sergeant Davis, good to see you again," John replied genially and Walter looked up at him with rheumy eyes before waiving a hand at him.

"Oh hell, just call me Walter like you used to, everyone around here still does," the cracked voice replied with a smile and John returned it with one of his own.

"I'm sorry Walter but I need to steal him away," Rodney interrupted, stepping up beside the elderly tech to try and pull John away by his elbow. "Landry's expecting us."

"I gotta go do this thing with the boss, but come by the officer's club tonight and I'll buy you a drink, if you want," John suggested, twisting his arm out of Rodney's grasp with a warning glance. "Okay?" Walter's face lit up again and he gave John a nod as his eager assistant started leading him back to his chair.

It was so odd seeing so many familiar faces and John was thankful that nothing like earlier in the helicopter had happened to him again here at Stargate Command or during any of his recent reunions. These were some of the faces and the places that tormented him at times and he wasn't sure how it was he was able to walk these halls and not buckle under the weight of the mountain surrounding him. He was missing the wide open spaces of the Wisconsin River basin and the quiet solitude of a little clapboard cabin in the woods that no longer had an occupant. Shaking himself away from the thoughts that would only drag him down further, John followed Rodney towards General Landry's office but the scientist stopped him just outside the door before they went in. It was closed and John could hear muffled voices inside, but Rodney rounded on him before going in and eyed John warily for a moment or two as if unsure about something.

" _What_ , Rodney?" he asked, uncomfortable under the scientist's suddenly heavy gaze, and he looked down at his clothes to make sure nothing was out of order. He looked fine, as far as he could tell, and looked back up at Rodney as he ran a cursory hand through his hair just to make sure it wasn't standing up on end as it was wont to do from time to time.

Rodney pursed his lips and shifted on his feet. "It's just that... well, I was serious about what I said before, John. Landry looks a lot like his uncle and... I guess I just want to make sure that... What I mean is... Oh _hell_."

"Just spit it out already Rodney!" he urged, unsettled by the scientist's strange behavior.

"I just want to make sure you can handle this, John. Okay?"

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" He hadn't been prepared for _that_.

"I'm not an idiot, Sheppard." McKay stated like John should have already known this bit of information. "I've been with you all day and I can see how some of this is effecting you. Just promise me you're going to be alright and then we'll go do this thing."

"I am perfectly fine, Rodney," John snapped, but it wasn't because of Rodney's presumption at knowing what it was that was going on inside his head, but because he was realizing the scientist had managed to see through all the bullshit John had tried to throw in his way over the past two days to mask the state he was in and those damn panic attacks. "Give it a rest."

But truth was, he _was_ kind of apprehensive about seeing Landry after hearing about the strong family resemblance. Hank Landry Sr. had been the only one of his superior officers who hadn't betrayed him that day 18 years ago and he'd never gotten the chance to thank the man properly for it before he'd died at the hands of those responsible for what had happened while trying to stop it. John had wanted him to know what it meant, that loyalty, but in the end, he'd been too late. Just like always.

"John?" Rodney broke through his memories again and John found he was shaking slightly. Releasing the fists he hadn't realized he'd made, he relaxed his shoulders as well as he could then glared at Rodney, daring the scientist to say another word about it. Thankfully Rodney stayed quiet and nodded reluctantly before knocking on the closed office door.

"Come on in," someone called from inside and John held his breath as Rodney pushed open the door.

General Hank Landry Jr.'s office was as far from familiar as any one place John had visited yet that day. It had been expanded, for one thing, and had borrowed about half the space from the old adjoining conference room to do it. A table and chairs had been added in one corner of the extra space and several uniformed officers were leaning over it absorbed in the various reports strewn about the table's mahogany surface. Every single one of them stopped what they were doing as John and Rodney entered and John nearly quit breathing when he finally spotted the General.

Hank Landry Jr. was a spitting image of his uncle and John almost had the urge to greet the man like he would have his long lost (and long dead) friend. The urge was quickly squashed a moment later however when the General rose from his chair to shake hands with them both and John got the full effect.

"Colonel Sheppard, I am so very glad you could make it," Hank Landry Jr. exclaimed, shaking John's hand vigorously with both of his own. The man was short, shorter than John would have ever expected, and thin with a high pitched voice that was almost absurd and thickly rimmed glasses which he put back onto his face and only helped to further separate him from any resemblance he had to his long deceased Uncle.

"General," John greeted back thickly with a nod, and Landry turned back to address the others seated at the table.

"Gentlemen, I have a few things to discuss with the Colonel and Dr. McKay. Why don't we pick this up again tomorrow? Say 0600?" The figures at the table all nodded in agreement then gathered up their things to start filing out of the office, each man throwing John a quick glance as they did. The General chatted animatedly with a few of them as they left and it wasn't just the disinterested small talk of an indifferent superior officer either. It was genuine and John thought he might be getting his first look at why General Landry had made it as far as he had and why Rodney had spoken so highly of the man. When the last of the officers had filed out, Landry shut the door behind them and waived Rodney and John into the two empty chairs in front of his desk.

John could remember the old uncomfortable ones that used to sit there back in the days of General O'Neill, Hammond and Landry's uncle, but they were long gone now, as was the old furniture, and in their places were well made pieces that shone with evidence of prideful elbow grease. The more he sat in the office, the more John decided he was going to try and like Hank Landry, Jr.

"Colonel Sheppard, welcome. I cannot even begin to tell you how very excited we all are that you've decided to come back to the SGC and give this a shot," the General intoned gratefully as he rounded his desk and took his own seat.

John toyed with the idea of mentioning that he hadn't made any decisions yet beyond deciding that he would fly the city back home, but he stayed quiet. Rodney had disappeared for a few minutes the other night to have an animated conversation with someone over the phone on his front porch after their catfish dinner and John had respectfully not eavesdropped (though it had been hard not to). But he was pretty sure it was Landry Rodney had been talking to and wasn't sure exactly what the scientist had told him about what John had agreed to do.

"I appreciate the opportunity, General," John replied as diplomatically as he could once he'd settled into his seat, but Landry only shook his head and actually started to laugh.

" _Bullshit_." He said as he leaned forward in his chair and something like curiosity flashed behind Landry's eyes.

"Sir?"

"Oh come on, Sheppard. I'm no fool. You're beyond pissed that I, or anyone at the SGC for that matter, had the audacity to track you down and drag you back into all of this." Landry gestured around the room with his hands and John sobered, narrowing his eyes at the man in front of him as he got called out, but Landry just nodded knowingly.

Apparently John had, at some point in the past 18 years, completely lost his ability to hide what was going on inside his head at any given moment to those observing him, and it was downright maddening.

"Alright, then General," John began with a hint of insubordination, lifting his chin and ignoring Rodney as the scientist squirmed uncomfortably in the next chair over. "Let's say that I _am_ pissed. Pissed that after 18 years of doing everything I possibly could to get away from this place and what happened, the organization responsible for destroying my life has the nerve to come back into it and ask me for a _favor_. How would you feel if you were in my shoes?"

Landry thankfully lost the smile he'd put on and looked over at John seriously. "I think, Colonel Sheppard, that I would have told them the exact same thing you did," he admitted, shuffling through a pile of papers on his desk before retrieving a blue file folder from the middle of the stack and opening the report up to the first page.

"And I would have told Major..." he searched for a name on the form, "... ah, here it is, Major Bradshaw to get the hell out of my town and go tell the IOA to 'fuck off', if I may be so bold as to use your own words," Landry finished solemnly enough, but there was still a hint of amusement behind his eyes as he tossed the report aside.

John sat back in his chair, figuring he'd won whatever game they were playing at.

"But then," Landry continued on unexpectedly and John stiffened, "I would have gotten a visit from my very good friend Dr. Rodney McKay once the IOA and the new people running her realized the colossal mistake they'd made in sending in someone I didn't know to try and ask this favor of me, and I would have listened to what my old friend had to say, then decided to give it a shot and see if things really had turned around like Dr. McKay had suggested." The countermove was a little underhanded but John couldn't help but give the man props for it. "Bottom line is, Colonel, we need you."

"But _why_?" John asked. "Why, after everything that happened with the Wraith, does the IOA want me to lead the expedition? I get that you need my gene to fly Atlantis back to Pegasus, but what's the point of giving me the command?"

"You don't give yourself enough credit, Sheppard," Landry answered, resting his elbows on the edge of his desk to level a serious gaze in John's direction. "You can't imagine the number of people that have streamed through this office to sit there and tell me that you're the only man for this job..."

"But that's not all of it, is it?" John interrupted almost angrily, ignoring the indirect compliment the man was paying him to call him out on the fact that he wasn't really giving a real answer to John's true question. "There's something else going on here that you're not telling me otherwise you'd just be asking me to fly Atlantis home and not offering me a promotion and the command."

"No, you're right Colonel," Landry replied with that same amusement lighting up behind his eyes as he leaned back in his chair. "Flying Atlantis home and leading the expedition weren't the only reasons I had for sending Major Bradshaw, and then Dr. McKay, out to talk you into coming back."

Finally they were getting somewhere.

"Yeah, I'm starting to figure that part out. Just what is it you want from me General?"

"If we could have left you alone to live your life in that little cabin in the woods in Wisconsin, we would have Sheppard, believe me, but the SGC has an ongoing situation here that goes beyond us needing just your Ancient gene and your leadership skills."

"I'm listening..."

"Having Atlantis on Earth, well, that gave us an opportunity to see if we could find other people with the Ancient gene occurring naturally in their blood who could fly the city like you could so we wouldn't have to bother you. Now, no one even came close to your level of control over the Ancient's technology, but we did manage to find some really promising candidates. Unfortunately though, none of those prospects panned out."

"Why not?"

"Because they're all dead, John," Rodney put in without warning and John whipped his head around to stare at the scientist.

"Excuse me?"

"Someone got to them," was all he said back and John's eyes widened.

"And you didn't think this was something you might have mentioned to me when you were talking me into coming back, McKay?" He demanded, voice going high from his growing anger.

"Well forgive me for not starting our conversation out with _'Oh hey, John, how've ya been? Someone is killing off all of people with the ATA gene back at the SGC and we need you to come and help us figure out who because you're the only one smart enough not to get yourself killed_ '!"

"Might have been a good idea, McKay!"

"Oh _please_!" Rodney shot back sarcastically.

"Dr. McKay, Colonel Sheppard, if you don't mind!" Landry cut in before John could retort back with something nasty and he pulled his angry eyes away from Rodney to settle them back on the General. "Look Sheppard, we have an unusual situation here and, quite frankly, we could use someone with your knowledge of the Stargate program and the SGC to help us keep this expedition safe."

"So you want me to come back after nearly two decades of being out of uniform, figure out who's sabotaging your program, help you fly Atlantis back home, then stay on as Expedition Leader when I'm done?"

"Pretty much," Landry replied simply.

John shook his head a little, still reeling, and laughed at the craziness of it all. "Do you guys even have any idea who's behind the sabotage?" He asked, pointedly not looking over at Rodney when the scientist shifted in his seat and mumbled something under his breath.

"No, only that they're doing everything they can to stop this project from getting back up off the ground."

"Look, I get that you need my gene to fly the city back home, but why not have Dr. Beckett just synthesize it like he did for people 20 years ago?" John suggested almost as an afterthought, his mind still churning with everything he was learning. "Why don't you guys just give some top brass big wig a dose of the gene therapy and have them run the expedition?"

"Well, for starters, Carson's only just agreed to restart his ATA research," Rodney piped in, rejoining the conversation again; their earlier heated words apparently either forgiven or forgotten. "And we're still running into the same problems we had with it before."

"Why did he stop his research?" John asked, pretty surprised at the news. "I thought he was getting somewhere with all that?"

"He was, but you know why he stopped, John," Rodney replied solemnly, saying his next words almost hesitantly with a glance over at Landry. "It was because of what happened at Area 51."

John sobered and darted his eyes over to where Landry sat behind his desk, unmoving. The man was a picture of calm in the moment, but John saw something dark pass over the General's features at the mention of Area 51; a place that held particular meaning for Hank Landry, Jr.

"Look, I can go over all this with him later, if you want, General," Rodney offered, acknowledging the awkwardness of the unspoken thing passing between them, but Landry just smiled and shook his head.

"No, go on, Dr. McKay. This is all important information that Colonel Sheppard needs to know."

Rodney cleared his throat and carefully danced around any further mention of Area 51.

"So, even with the gene therapy, no one has come close yet to being able to control Atlantis the way you can, John" Rodney continued on. "Only 50% or so of the people given the therapy actually take to it, and even less of that 50% are able to actually use the technology safely."

"And believe me, Colonel Sheppard," Landry cut in, all traces of whatever John had seen pass across his face long gone, "we've tried everything we can think of to find someone else to do this, but to be perfectly honest with you, there's no one quite like you left in the world; not with your background or extensive knowledge of the Pegasus galaxy and how Atlantis works, and our numbers are just too few to trust this with anyone else but you.

The Atlantis Expedition is way too important to the people of this planet to place it in the hands of someone who might not be able to fly the city safely should, God forbid, something go wrong again. The IOA wants you, as do all the members of the expedition who will be going along with you."

John contemplated the general for a moment after he'd finished speaking and ran a hand over his chin as he tried to make sense of what he was hearing. So he was a last resort, a gamble the new IOA members were taking to get the expedition back up and running under the threat of sabotage and they were willing to overlook the past to do it. And John couldn't decide if he should be honored by what they were asking of him after so many years away, or pissed as hell at their presumptiveness that he could just let go of what had been done to him and come back.

"Sheppard," Landry continued, "you're the only one who can command the Ancient technology at the level we need to ensure this expedition's safety. We need _you_."

"So have me come back in some other capacity," he suggested. "Why hand me the entire thing?"

"Oh, for the love of God, John!" Rodney cried suddenly, throwing his hands in the air. John rounded on him angrily but bit his tongue to keep from saying something he would regret. "You are _not_ responsible for what happened back then! How many times do I have to keep telling you this before it penetrates that thick, impeccably coifed, head of yours?" John blinked and Rodney leaned towards him. "Take what the man's offering you! If for no other reasons than because you're a good soldier, one hell of a leader, and the only person qualified to do this. Quit being an idiot!"

John released a weary breath and collapsed back against his chair. For nearly 20 years he'd been telling himself that he was, in fact, at least somewhat responsible for what had gone down in the skies over Earth all those years ago and McKay was expecting him to just let it go. Maybe the John Sheppard from before the war could have, but it was like there was some sort of short in the center of his chest in the wires connecting John to that old version of himself and he didn't quite know how to fix the issue or where to even start looking for it in the complex network of crap that clogged his insides.

"If I do this, what's the next step?" he asked, sighing heavily and not really sure he wanted to hear what they planned for him. Landry shared a look with Rodney.

"We give you the promotion to Brigadier General as promised," Landry replied, "and then we get you started on the several weeks long program we have set up for you to bring you back up to speed on the Strategic Force and get you back into shape while you help us investigate the sabotage. Though I'm hoping now that you've returned, the violence will stop."

"And what, you'll try to keep me alive in the meantime if it doesn't? This is not exactly what I signed up for, General," he countered, leveling the most serious glower he could manage at the man sitting behind the desk in front of him. Landry surprisingly didn't shift under the gaze like most men would have, but smiled slightly instead.

"I know it isn't Colonel, but believe me, we never would have asked this of you had we not thought we could protect you or that you couldn't handle the situation. I wasn't lying about the staggering number of people that have come through my office to sit in that very chair and vouch for the kind of man you are, either."

"The kind of man I was," John corrected the general, utterly exhausted anymore. "The kind of man I _was_."

"No, Colonel," Landry replied, shaking his head. "I don't think that's the case at all."

John opened his mouth to argue but Landry cut him off.

"Look, as of right now you are still technically a civilian and not under my command. Tomorrow at 1100 hours we'll conduct the Reenlistment Ceremony in the Gateroom but until then you are free to leave entirely or go anywhere you chose on this base, provided Dr. McKay or some other member of the SGC be with you on any of the secure levels. If tomorrow you show up for the ceremony, fantastic. If not, I thank you for your service and the valiant and brave years you gave to us as an officer of the United States Air Force. My uncle had nothing but the utmost love and respect for you Colonel Sheppard and every last one of us here in this mountain are honored to have known you. Even if, for some of us, that time was very brief."

Landry rose from his seat then, the conversation apparently over, and old training had John up on his feet instantly, even before Rodney could stumble up from his own. Landry smiled a little at that and returned the salute John hadn't even realized he'd given with one of his own. John lowered the hand slowly, staring at it like it had a mind of its own and was libel to attack him, then turned to face Landry as the General rounded his desk.

"I think Uncle Hank would have been very happy to know that we'd met," the man said quietly, leaning in as he shook John's hand firmly and going slightly misty eyed. Taken aback by the sudden show of emotion from the General, John remained silent and allowed Rodney to lead him out of the office and back into the hall with little more than a nod to Landry as he left. The door behind them snicked closed softly a few seconds later and John stared back at it for a moment or two before turning around to face McKay again.

"Well," the scientist started with a little lift to his shoulders, "that could have gone worse."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I seem to be giving you more questions than answers, but stick with it because I reveal a big piece of the puzzle very soon. :) Just a few more chapters.


	8. The Gang's Not All Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some strong language in this chapter towards the end.

"Weel here he is then, the man a'the hour himsself!" Carson Beckett slurred ever so slightly as John entered the so called 'officer's club' to a loud chorus of happy greetings later that evening. There were quite a few faces he recognized in the rather sizable crowd that had gathered in the space for his impromptu "welcome back" party and he spent several minutes shaking hands and getting the random awkward hug from people he hadn't seen or spoken to in over eighteen years. Just like he'd predicted, news of his arrival had traveled fast and it seemed anyone who'd known him, wanted to know him, or just plain wanted to see if the rumors were really true, had shown up at the club for the spontaneous little party that had sprung up inside of it.

And John had to hand it to the SGC, the place was actually kind of cool. It could hold a decent enough crowd and seemed to be made from an old interrogation room that had been retrofitted to hold a bar and half a dozen or so old tables and chairs John recognized from years ago in the Mess. The lighting was on a dimmer switch and someone had turned it down low to improve the ambiance and music was thumping away from somewhere unseen. There was even a little line of white Christmas lights in front of the mirror behind the bar and it was so reminiscent of Eddie's bar, The Crabby Girl, that John had to take a moment to acclimate himself to the atmosphere when he'd first walked in. He had already been thrown off a little earlier when, on his way into the club with Rodney, he'd noticed a plaque affixed to the wall just outside the door christening the club the Cameron Mitchell Officer's Club with a bronze silhouette of the long dead Colonel emblazoned on one side of it next to a rather nice remembrance of the man from Rodney himself. Knowing that the Colonel and Rodney had never exactly been friends, it was a testament to just how much the War had changed everyone that Rodney could find such kind and eloquent words for the Colonel who'd given his life bringing madmen to justice.

"John Sheppard!" Someone cried from behind him over the din of voices and John turned around just in time to see Evan Lorne elbowing through the crowd surrounding him with a shit eating grin on is face. The Major clapped a hand on John's shoulder and he returned the gesture right back with a laugh. "I didn't believe Rodney at first when he said you were coming back but here you are! _Shit_ it's good to see you, Sheppard!" He could tell Lorn was a little more than inebriated, but he could have cared less in that moment.

Evan Lorne looked exactly the same as John remembered him except for a little gray at his temples and more lines on his face than had been there before. He was as fit as ever and dressed in civilian clothes which was still a little off-putting to see, even after all these years, but John was thrilled to see the man all the same. There was a reason why he'd chosen to go by the alias 'John Evans' in Blue River and besides Rodney and Beckett, there wasn't one other person in that entire mountain John trusted more than Evan Lorne. Just knowing the man would be coming to Atlantis with them was enough to keep him from throwing in the towel.

"Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes, Major," John chuckled, giving Loren's shoulder a companionable scuff before releasing it.

"Nope, not anymore. It's Colonel now." Lorne stated seriously before sloshing his drink just slightly as he shuffled forward. "Funny the things they'll do around here to get some experienced soldiers back in the saddle!"

"My apologies then, _Colonel_ ," John replied, putting emphasis on the new title with a smile. "That's great, buddy. Congrats."

"No, no no no no. If anyone is due congratulations it's you _BRIGADIER GENERAL_!" Lorne called out, leaning back slightly so everyone around them heard what he said. A cheer erupted from somewhere nearby and John ducked his head in embarrassment. He didn't know anyone had heard about that just yet.

" _Almost_ Brigadier General," he corrected and Lorne laughed.

"Alrighty then," the freshly minted Colonel Lorne quipped a little drunkenly, "free drinks for the 'Almost' Brigadier General Sheppard and all the grape Nehis he can drink to Dr. Rodney McKay for bringing him back in!" Everyone in the bar started laughing before cheering again loudly and John watched Rodney stop talking to Carson over at the other end of the bar and color dramatically. These were the parts of the past he missed the most and someone shoved a beer into his hands and clapped him on the back as they all relaxed back into familiar roles.

John spent the next few hours catching up with old friends and 18 years worth of missed history. No one pushed him for details on where he had been or what he had been up to after the war and for that he was grateful. He suspected the lack of questions was due in part to something Rodney or maybe even General Landry had done, but still, he was thankful for it. As wonderful as it was reminiscing about the past he'd shared with some of these men, he still wasn't much interested in sharing the parts of his past no one but him had been around to experience. And yet, as interesting a draw as the long lost John Sheppard was, the crowd in the club thinned pretty quickly after an hour or so as most of the congregated party goers still had families to go home to and early morning shifts the next day.

It was a weird feeling for John to have to think in terms of days of the week and schedules again. His life had been so unstructured for so long that the idea of resetting his clock to military time was almost daunting. Still, he had a feeling it would be just like riding a bike for him, and he would eventually slip right back into his old flight patterns with ease.

As the crowd thinned John eventually found himself seated at a table with Lorne, Beckett and Rodney and half a dozen empty beer bottles littering the table around them. Each member of their little band of stragglers didn't have far to go that night, as John learned, and their conversation quickly moved from jovial remembrance and into more somber territory.

"So, if you're interested John, even if ya do decide to leave us tomorrow, I think we should all go to town and pay our respects," Carson was suggesting and John nodded along with the other men at the table.

It had been suggested by the good doctor that they all visit the little cemetery near the base of the mountain where the headstones of lost SGC members stood. There were two grave markers in particular there that John intended to visit and he wasn't sure how he felt about company on the little expedition he knew would be taking whether he decided to stay or not. Landry and Rodney's little revaluation to him about the ATA gene carriers being killed off changed things a little.

"Hey, remember that time we tried to teach Ronon how to drive a stick, Sheppard?" Lorne asked unexpectedly, pulling an actual laugh from John as the memory of that crazy day popped into his head.

"Oh god, it was that visiting general's jeep! We 'borrowed' it from the motor pool and then Ronon shot it up with his blaster when he got pissed he couldn't figure out how to shift. I thought for sure Landry was going to Court Martial us for that one."

"But he didn't. I think he secretly got a kick out of it," Lorne smiled a little crookedly. Everyone at the table laughed and John ran a hand down dis face, letting old memories replay in his mind over and over again. They were good ones too, and ones he would have to remember for later.

"Or how about Teyla?" Carson put in, following the natural order of deceased friends. "I cannae tell you how many times that lass landed each an' every one of you lot in my infirmary. Only woman I've ever known who could hand grown men their asses with a couple of fancy sticks." Another round of chuckles, these more subdued, swept over the small group of old friends and John smiled at the images Carson conjured. Teyla had been fierce, but at the same time soft, though he'd never taken the time to tell her so. There had been opportunities of course, but he'd let his insecurities and inability to share what he was thinking with others pass those moments by. Of course he'd never expected to lose her in the way he had, or so suddenly... not that that was any excuse.

"I guess Carter's next," Lorne hiccupped from across the way and Rodney poked the man in the side with a good-natured fingertip.

"You're drunk, Ev," he ribbed, not a little slurred himself and Carson snorted.

"Man never could hold his liquor," the doc laughed and Evan looked up in mock outrage which he didn't pull off very well, chortling through it all as he was.

"Hey, m'not as think as you drunk I am. 'Sides, if anyone couldn't hold their liquor around this place, it was Wolsey. That man was a traaaain wreck." Lorne slurred innocently enough but it was enough to stiffen every last man seated at the table and John set his beer back down on the table top with a little more force than he'd intended to. The last dregs of his beer sloshed around the bottom of the bottle audibly.

"Alright, Evan, I think you've had enough. Time to call it a night." Rodney said lightly, standing up from the table to help guide Lorne up from out of his seat. The Colonel put up a half hearted fight at first but then threw his arm around Rodney's shoulders for support and put a hand to his forehead in a drunken salute.

"G'night men!" He said with a wide smile near the door and John watched Rodney drag the inebriated man from the room.

"Y'know, as nice a spot as this Officer's Club is to unwind, I wonder sometimes if is'nna the best thing to have in a place like this, " Carson spoke from beside John a little disjointedly but seriously enough and John turned back to the table. "What with everything these boys go through off-world."

"Oh yeah?" he replied as indifferently as he could, not really sure he was ready to get into a philosophical debate over the merits of recreational lubricants in the military workplace with Carson Beckett at the moment. Not after the day he'd just had.

"Oh, I don't know. We're old men now John," the doctor replied back with a sigh and a stretch. "What do we know about what young men need these days?" Carson patted John's arm before heading back up to the bar with an armful of their empties and John was left alone to mull over what he'd just said.

The doc was right. What did John know about this life anymore after nearly 20 years out of uniform? Then there was the fact that, during his entire career, he'd always been under someone else in the chain of command. Sure, he'd climbed the ranks like every hungry Airman that had come before him had and had ended up being the military leader of Atlantis, but he was suddenly finding himself about to enter the upper echelons of Stargate Command, and as a general. If he took Atlantis back to Pegasus and stayed on as Expedition Leader, he was going to be the one in charge with no buffers in place to protect him from his own stupidity… well, if no one tried to kill him first, that was. He was going to be the one people looked too for direction and John wasn't entirely sure he was ready for it all. There were no more Elizabeth Weir's or Samantha Carter's to turn to. There would just be General Sheppard and the weight of that was almost more than he could handle at the moment. Thankfully Carson returned a moment later with another round of beers and plunked one down on the table in front of John, pulling him out of his over-analyzation.

"One more for tha road," the Scott intoned in his thick brogue and John popped the top to his before he could change his mind.

"To old friends," he said, and raised the bottle so Carson could clink it with his own.

"Aye, to old friends indeed."

"Oh good, I thought you guys might have left without me," Rodney interrupted them mid-toast, arriving back at the club and plopping himself back down into the chair he'd been occupying for most of the night. Carson passed him a beer.

"Hey, I'm sorry about Evan, John," he offered, popping the top. "He's been going through kind of a rough patch lately." but if there was any explanation for Lorne's 'rough patch' Rodney didn't give it and John didn't feel like pushing.

"Oh christ, we're all gonnae feel this in the mornin', aren't we? I havenae drank like this since the '60s."

"Carson, you were born in the 60's." Rodney cut in seriously, looking over at the doctor skeptically.

"Aye, lad, I was. But we start 'em young over in Scotland, ye ken?" the doctor said with a straight face and a wink and even John joined in with his own chuckle when Rodney buried his face in an elbow with a snort.

"Hey, what's that Reenlistment Ceremony all about?" John asked without much thought, trying to pull the conversation back to more practical matters. "What exactly are they going to make me do?"

"Kill a chicken?" Rodney offered with a straight face, pulling himself up from the table.

"Sacrifice a virgin?" Carson suggested with a shrug and both men collapsed back into laughter.

"Now I remember why it was I never drank with you two asses back on Atlantis. You're crazy."

"Certifiably!" Carson answered back with a tip of his beer but Rodney wiped the sides of his eyes with his palms and actually offered John an honest answer to the question.

"It's nothing really. Some training, a few classes on the new military structure, and some psyche evals, but you'll have no trouble with all that," but even as the scientist said it, Rodney abruptly looked doubtful and John thought back on their earlier conversation in front of Landry's office.

_... I've been with you all day and I can see how some of this is effecting you. Just promise me you're going to be okay..._

"Well gentlemen," John said, eager to diffuse the situation before alcohol loosened tongues that normally stayed discrete, "as fun as this night has been, I think someone needs to show me to my bunk so I can hit the hay before I keel over."

"Of course," Rodney nodded and the three cleared their little table much to the delight of the poor bartender who had been patiently waiting for them to finish up and leave. It wasn't all that late, John realized, checking his watch a moment later after the bartender wished them a good night in a way so reminiscent of Eddie, John had to get the hell out of there. They parted ways with Carson in the corridor and Rodney showed John to the VIP guest quarters a few levels up. He started to protest immediately at the accommodations, but Rodney just put up his hands.

"General Landry's orders," he said with a shrug of his shoulders before waiving John inside. "See you tomorrow morning at the ceremony?" Rodney asked next, and John turned slowly to eye his sheepishly smiling friend. It wasn't a fair question. Rodney _knew_ he needed time to process the new information he'd been given and John had no answers to give the man just yet, but it looked like Rodney wasn't going to leave until he at least had some kind of comment from him so John just shrugged his shoulders and offered a quiet "we'll see," and Rodney nodded with a resigned sigh.

"Alright then, pleasant dreams," and before John could respond back, the scientist was gone, shutting the door behind him with a gentle wooden click.

Finally alone for the first time in days, John toed his boots off then took a good look around his temporary accommodations. If he did decide to stay, and that was still a big if - especially after all the new information he'd gotten from Landry and Rodney - the first thing he was going to do was demand a normal bunk. There was no way in hell he was going to live out of the VIP suite for however many weeks he would stay here 'training'. For one thing it would set a bad example to the men and woman he would be commanding who didn't know him from before and who would be sizing him up in the coming weeks to get a feel for the kind of superior officer he would be. And not to mention some of the ones he had known from before who would be doing exactly the same thing as well. Better he have quarters down with the rest of the soldiers stationed here so they understood, without a doubt, how it was he ran things. And secondly, as nice as the VIP room was, it wasn't a real representation of what it was he was doing there. He wasn't some bigwig to be wined and dined. He was a soldier, and one to be taken seriously, and if he couldn't take out his own trash and clean his own bathroom, than he had no business coming back to the Stargate program in the first place.

Chuckling at the thought and half tempted to start scrubbing the floor of the latrine with his own toothbrush just for the amusement of whomever might be watching him over the hidden cameras he knew were in the room, John picked his duffle bag up off the room's desk and pulled out some clean clothes. Traveling for long periods of time with lots of other people always made him feel grimy somehow and he let himself prune under the shower's hot water for longer than normally would have. But the hot shower felt fantastic. It was one luxury he'd never often afforded himself back at the cabin, though all it would have taken was a quick flip of the switch on the generator outside to get some. That had always been Carrie's thing and he thought on her a bit as he washed the shampoo suds from his hair in the spray.

John wasn't sure if Carrie or Eddie would come looking for him in the next few weeks. Winter was raging full blast in the Midwest, if the shoddy news reports on the radio were anything to go by, and if he didn't come in to town for a few weeks, they weren't exactly going to get worried. He had plenty of supplies up at the cabin - they knew that - and he wondered how long it would take for his note to be found when they eventually came looking for him. The note wasn't addressed to anyone in particular, though it would be woefully obvious who it was mostly intended for. Yet he'd left it on the table all the same and even now, he realized, should he decide not to stay and fly Atlantis home, he wasn't entirely sure he could ever go back to Blue River, Wisconsin. He'd said goodbyes he only now realized he'd given and closed the book on one chapter of his life expecting the next volume's pages to have already filled themselves in. But it hadn't worked out that way and he now found himself sitting in front of a book of bound blank pages with pen poised above the paper and no clue as to what came next.

John switched the shower water off then and towel dried until he no longer dripped before dressing and leaving the bathroom as clean as he'd found it. Someone had hung a freshly pressed uniform on the back of the bathroom door and he stood inspecting it for a few minutes before ripping the protective plastic away. According to the tag inside, it would probably fit him and he rubbed the fabric of one sleeve between his fingertips to try and get a feel for the thing. He'd worn the same uniform his entire career and the thought of wearing something different felt like a betrayal; like he was being disloyal to the Air Force somehow. Yet the material trapped between his thumb and forefinger felt similar enough to his old Service Dress, and while there were differences, he could see a hint of the old ways in the make of it. The color was a dark charcoal grey, black almost, with gold buttons and a steel grey collard undershirt with a red, white, and blue striped tie that was oddly regal rather than gaudy as one might have expected such a tie to be. Whomever had prepared the suit had gotten all his medals and service awards correct as well and he had half an urge to pull the damn thing off its hanger and try it on, just to see how it looked, but thought better of it and let the sleeve he was holding fall before heading over to switch off the overhead light and settle in for the night.

It was strange, climbing into an unknown bed and having it be warm and comfortable when he did so. While his own bed at home had been far from _un_ comfortable, it had always been frigid at first and to sink beneath the sheets of a bed that didn't threaten frostbite upon entry, was almost heavenly. His body was tired from a day full of travel and his mind was exhausted from the countless reunions and meetings he'd had in the few short hours since he'd arrived on base. Even the beer sitting warm at the center of him was lulling him under into sleep and John was out almost instantly.

Too bad all of it wasn't enough to keep the dreams at bay.

It was the dead who usually visited John in his sleep most nights and as soon as his eyelids dropped closed he was back on that Hive ship again watching himself cut down an entire squadron of advancing Wraith with his P90 over the cold and dead bodies of his friends. Sometimes in the dreams their eyes were open and sometimes they were closed, but in this particular version of the dream it was Teyla who was reaching for him from the blood covered floor even as the Wraith surged forward and forced him back and out from the room she had fallen in. He spent the long hours of the night doing everything in his power to try and get back in there to pull her body from the wreckage... but there was a bomb ticking idly away nearby - just like always - and, like he did every time he had this particular dream, he was forced to leave her body there to burn up with all that was left of the Wraith who had killed her.

" _John, don't leave me!_ "

He awoke the next morning mid bellow, Teyla's screams still echoing around in his head and mixing with his own and he clamped a hand over his mouth and fought back the urge to be sick. It didn't work though, and he emptied his meager stomach contents into the toilet he barely managed to throw himself over a moment later. Someone was at his door pounding hard against the wood and John wiped his mouth with some toilet paper before sitting back.

"Colonel Sheppard, is everything alright in there?" A voice called right from outside the closed bathroom door.

"I'm fine!" He managed to respond and whomever was standing there seemed to be satisfied with the answer and left. Great, that was the last thing he needed: the entire base knowing he had nightmares. He could only hope the guard posted outside his door would be discrete.

John cleaned himself up in the sink as best he could then glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand beside his bed. It was only about 5:30 in the morning and there was no way he was getting back to sleep. And even though his stomach was still angry at him for the frayed nerves and a few too many beers the night before, John pushed it all to the side and got himself dressed before heading out to go in search of the base gym. His legs were just begging him for a good stretch and a nice long run, especially after the events of the past few days, but unfortunately for John, he couldn't for the life of him remember where the gym located. Thankfully the guard on duty near the VIP room was more than happy to give him directions and was good enough not to question him about earlier.

John wasn't going to be able to run outside like he wanted to, not up here in the mountains, and he thought sadly of the nice little path he'd managed to cut through the dense scrub around his cabin all the way back in Wisconsin. The thought of never seeing it again was depressing and John distracted himself from the memories by slipping the earbuds of his ancient first generation iPod into his ears and setting to shuffle a playlist of old classic rock hits.

The base gym was just one level down from his temporary quarters and John found it easily enough with his directions and was relieved to find himself alone in the cavernous room that held a suspended track and every piece of exercise equipment imaginable. He made his way up to the elevated track and set in to stretching before he got started. It was still fairly early yet and, despite his hangover, John pushed himself hard and quick so he could finish his run before the gym started to fill. Yet even as John set a pace he knew he wouldn't be able to maintain for long, he relished the feel of the track beneath his running shoes and the reverberation of his efforts as they passed up through his legs as he ran. This was what he needed to clear his head to try and decide what exactly it was he intended to do with the rest of his life.

The SGC was giving him a chance to salvage that life, and something important to do with the productive years he still had left, but the one hold up to all of it was the events of the past and he knew there was only one reason this new IOA was willing to overlook that. He had something they wanted, desperately, and they were willing to stake the future of Atlantis on the one man who had very nearly doomed her in the first place. Granted, that had been under the rule of different men; men long gone now, shut up in secret military prisons no one left in the government remembered, if there was any justice left in the world, and he reminded himself to ask McKay about what had become of some of the players they had brought down after the war.

John rounded the next corner of the track and spied a woman stretching near the stairs. She glanced his way but had earbuds in as well and he was glad he wouldn't be forced to acknowledge her every time she lapped him on the track, which he was fairly certain she would be able to do with ease considering she was half his age and probably in the prime of her life. John, it would seem, was no longer in the prime of his, and his bad knee was beginning to remind him of that fact loudly. He wasn't going to last much longer.

Focusing back on his feet pounding away at the path and the Jimmy Hendrix song thumping away in his ears, John tried to settle his conflicted thoughts once and for all. He was going to help fly Atlantis back to the Pegasus galaxy; he'd pretty much decided that already even after the news of his predecessor's death. It was more a question of would he stay on as Expedition Leader when it was all said and done. Part of John was so happy just to be back on a military base that it wanted him to run right up to Landry's office and go through this 'reenlistment ceremony' as soon as possible, but then there was the other part of him that couldn't stand the thought of coming back to all the bureaucracy, lies and bullshit. And after two decades of chaos there still had to be a lot of that crap floating around no matter what company lines Landry tried to feed him. As the leader of the Atlantis Expedition he would be knee deep in it and he'd never been one for diplomacy... or stupidity for that matter. He was too much like General O'Neill in that respect, though Jack had certainly given it his best shot. Still, John knew his limitations and knew, should he agree to take the job being offered, that he would need to surround himself with those who could navigate the waters of International Cooperation and give him good advice. But didn't he have that in wise old McKay, career military Lorne and reliable old Carson Beckett?

Feeling something pop in his knee with a warning, John slowed the pace he'd fallen into and stopped completely beside the exit of the suspended track to stretch it out and cool down. His fellow runner was the only one with him up on the elevated platform, but John could see that several other people were using the equipment down on the floor below and he took the stairs to the lower level to see if he could find the showers. He rinsed quickly then threw on a clean jumpsuit someone had left in his room and left the locker room looking just like everyone else on base. It was a strange feeling, fitting in like that again, and he enjoyed the fact that he was completely ignored by nearly everyone he passed all the way back to the bank of elevators that would take him back up to the VIP room.

When the elevator door opened with a ding, John stepped out onto his floor and started off in the direction of his room tunelessly whistling along to Bon Jovi. His run had done the job and there was an almost bounce to his step that hadn't been there in years. Being back at the SGC was like coming home at times, almost as much as if it were Atlantis herself and he nearly cracked half a smile as he neared his room and spied Rodney hovering near his door.

"There you are!" The scientist hollered over at him and took a few steps towards him before pressing a finger to his ear. "Carson, I found him. He's back at his room."

"Well good morning to you too, Rodney," he said with a smile, giving his friend a small fake salute as he threw the towel he'd brought along with him over his shoulder. "To what do I owe the honor of this wakeup call?"

He was joking around, but Rodney's face was serious and John realized what was going on then. When Rodney had knocked on his door this morning and had gotten no response, the scientist had assumed John had decided against staying and had left in the night without even a goodbye. He thought about promising Rodney right then and there that he'd never willingly do that to his old friend again, but decided against it.

Realizing that Rodney was still glowering at him John held up his iPod. "Relax, buddy. I just went for a run."

"I thought you..." Rodney started to say, but stopped himself and crossed his arms over his chest. "Look, Carson and I just wanted to take you to breakfast and run through the reenlistment ceremony with you so you'll know what to expect today. And I also wanted to let you know that I talked to Landry and he's fine with you bunking down with the rest of us. That is... you know, if you're planning on staying." John almost smiled and Rodney continued. "In fact, if you want to, I can show you a few of the open rooms right now." Rodney started to waive him away from the VIP room and back towards the elevators, but John hesitated for a moment.

"A little early in the morning for a sightseeing tour, isn't it?" He joked but McKay just looked at his watch and shrugged.

"I haven't gotten a decent night's sleep in over 18 years," the scientist replied, looking back up from his watch and over to John. "How about you?" The question was asked casually enough but John stopped short to look his friend over.

"Just... give me a second, would ya?" he replied and reached for the doorknob to the VIP room. "I'll just throw this stuff in here, then you can show me whatever you want, okay?" Rodney nodded.

John figured this was the part where McKay tried to bribe him into staying with a walk down memory lane and even though part of him wanted to decline and hide out in his quarters lest he need to make a clean getaway later that morning if he decided it all wasn't worth it anymore, John found himself agreeing to Rodney's suggestion. Truth was, the SGC, while not a place he'd spent a ton of time in throughout his career, was still the place where he'd come to take leave, debrief top brass, and meet with SG-1 or Daniel Jackson on some Wraith or Ancient issue. So while it didn't have the draw as say a trip over to Atlantis would have, he was willing to let Rodney drag him around base as he showed him what he thought were its finer points.

"Just hurry up, "Rodney was saying. "Carson's waiting for us."

John turned back towards the door to the VIP room and was just about to push through and go inside when the sound of raised voices down an adjacent corridor grabbed his attention and held it for a moment. He almost shrugged it off and kept going, but one of the raised voices managed to stir something hidden so deep down in his center he'd very nearly forgotten it was there, and John stopped dead in his tracks even as the door in front of him swung open.

It couldn't be.

No fucking way.

John made himself look to his right and watch as two men rounded a corner several yards down the hall from him, neither of the men noticing that he and Rodney were standing there in the corridor just yet.

They were coming from the direction of Landry's office and the shorter General was arguing loudly with a tall lanky man John immediately recognized as ice filled his veins, his hands clenched into fists so tight he could feel his fingernails bite into his palms and draw blood, and his heart pounded away in his ears until all he could hear was its galloping roar in his head.

John was about to come face to face with Richard Wolsey for the first time in eighteen years and he had a promise to keep.

Time stood still and in an instant, several things happened at once.

Landry looked away from Wolsey and his eyes immediately widened at the sight of John and Rodney standing there at the end of the hallway. Rodney let out a curse that would have made his own mother blush and Wolsey, hearing the rather crude expletive, looked up in confusion before going as white as a sheet as Landry stepped forward to put himself between John and the bastard just as the man started to take a few stumbling steps backwards, finally realizing just who it was that the general was separating him from.

Something indescribable took over John in that moment and he finally, after days of courting the edge, lost his grip.

Propelled forward on 18 years worth of rage and hatred for the man who now stood before him like some contemptuous reminder of what had been done to him, John lunged forward with a bellow that just might have torn something in his throat, and Carson Beckett appeared as if out of nowhere at his side. He and Rodney each grabbed one of John's arms and held on for dear life as he fought to throw them off and get at the man standing stunned a few yards away from him.

"You bastard! You fucking coward!" he screamed, surprising even himself with the force of his rage and someone wrapped themselves around his middle as he managed another few steps forward. "Wolsey, you goddamn murderer!"

"Get him out of here!" Landry bellowed in their direction and Carson and McKay yanked at John's arms trying to force him back and away.

"John, you've got to stop!" Rodney hissed into his ear, but all John knew in that moment was anger so deep it tinged everything around him red, the bastard Wolsey included.

This was it, his one in a million chance at revenge presenting itself to him and just begging not to be wasted.

"Colonel Sheppard, I'm sorry!" Wolsey called out to him then, looking desperately and bent, but the asshole should have kept his damn mouth shut and John redoubled his efforts at clawing out off Rodney and Carson's hold so he could get at the man.

"You don't get to fucking say that to me!" He bellowed back. "I'll kill you! You hear me, you rat bastard? I'll kill you, Wolsey for what you did!" Absolute anger nearly choked him and John pulled at the hands still managing to hold him back somehow. But their hold was tight and John watched Landry turn to Wolsey and point down the hall as he struggled.

"Mr. Wolsey, if you don't get the hell off my base this instant, I swear to God I will order those men to release Colonel Sheppard." The threat seemed to be all the warning Wolsey needed and he swallowed hard before turning around and practically running from the corridor. But John didn't get a good look at which direction he went because Beckett and McKay and the guard who'd given him directions to the gym earlier and who was now wrapped around his lower half, managed to manhandle him off his feet and back towards the VIP room.

"Get your damn hands off me!" He growled out, voice hoarse from his abuse as he put all the venom he had into spitting the words out.

John Sheppard had made a promise. All those years ago he'd stood in a corridor just like the one they were forcing him out of now and had made a vow that if he ever saw Richard Wolsey's face again, he would kill the bastard, and John cursed fate for turning him into the kind of man who would even contemplate following through on such a threat.

Rodney, Carson and the guard pushed John roughly up against a far wall of the VIP room when they'd finally gotten him inside and an arm came up to press tightly against his windpipe, cutting off his air as he continued to fight against his subduers. Sputtering and gasping for breath, he abandoned his efforts at ripping through the hold Carson and Rodney had on him and focused on grabbing for the arm, desperately trying to reestablish his flow of oxygen.

"Ok!" He managed to choke out, "Enough already!" and John let the fight leave his body and he sagged against the hands still holding him up against the wall involuntarily as it drained from him. He let his arms drop uselessly to his sides and the guard with his arm pressed against his windpipe eased away slowly as he eyed John cautiously as if trying to decide if he was well and truly done.

"Just get your damn hands off me," he said again, roughly but low, throat torn and hoarse from his yelling, and shook off their hands with an angry shift of shoulders. Everyone backed off like he asked, but the knee he'd pushed too hard that morning in the gym finally gave way beneath the full weight he suddenly put on it and John stumbled over to the bed as his traitorous body collapsed beneath him. Carson followed along with him and tried to ease his way with an outstretched hand, but John pushed the help angrily away and rested his elbows on his knees with head bent and buried his face in his hands. His palms were sweaty against his forehead and they shook but he ignored it and tried to regain some control over his breathing.

Shit. He was falling apart and he had no idea how to fix it. Ever since that damn day in the blind with Eddie it was like his emotions had been attached to a shorter and shorter fuse and everything since was pushing him closer and closer to a full on nuclear explosion. He'd fought with Carrie, had another panic attack in the helicopter on the way to the SGC, completely lost it in the corridor just now with Wolsey and each time it seemed to be getting worse. But what made it all so confusing was the fact that this wasn't _him_. He didn't recognize himself anymore. You didn't get to be a pilot in the United States Air Force without rigorous training and psychological evaluation and he'd been through his fair share of both. His entire life he'd been introverted and level headed, so how was it that memories from a long buried past could deconstruct that so easily all of a sudden?

" _Because of what you did, Sheppard_ ," that little voice inside his head reminded him and then even John couldn't stop the shake that over took his shoulders.

"I think we can take it from here now, Lieutenant," Rodney was saying quietly above him but John kept his head down and redoubled his efforts at trying to catch his breath. Bright white lights were dancing in his field of vision and he felt like he was on the verge of passing out from the pain in his knee, but he focused in on his breathing and willed his body to give him this one last little bit of control. If he passed out, it was over, and he wasn't quite ready to bow out of this all just yet.

"You sure, Dr. McKay?" The guard questioned above him and John resisted the urge to lift his head and order the kid to get the hell out himself.

"We'll be okay. Just make sure no one disturbs us for awhile, alright? I don't care if it's Landry himself. Would you do that?"

"'Course, sir." the kid replied, then shuffled out of the room, closing the door behind him as he left.

It was dead silent in the VIP room for several minutes and John could only imagine what was going through the minds of the two men standing over him. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, shaking like a leaf, having just nearly ripped a man's head off and still heaving like he'd just finished running a friggin' marathon. They were probably wondering just what it was they had gotten themselves into, pulling him back into all this, and John almost wanted to laugh. Landry was probably thinking the same thing up in his office right now too, having just witnessed the man he was about to put in charge of an entire expedition, loose it quite spectacularly in the middle of the SGC. If John didn't leave himself, he wondered how long it would take for Landry and the other members of the IOA to realize what a colossal mistake they were making and to do it themselves. ...Most likely right after he'd flown Atlantis back to Pegasus and they had gotten what they wanted.

"I'm sorry you had to see that John," Rodney murmured quietly, sitting beside John on the edge of the bed and dipping the mattress in so that John had to shift so as not to knock elbows with the man as he was pulled from his uneven thoughts. "Landry called us up a while ago to make sure you didn't run into Wolsey on his way out but you weren't in your room when we came looking for you. That wasn't supposed to happen."

Carson wrapped a hand around one of John's trembling wrists to take his pulse but he pushed the doctor away once again. "I'm _fine_ , Carson," he rasped irritably at first, but then shot the doctor an apologetic glance. He was being an asshole but if Carson was angry at the mistreatment he didn't let it show, and disappeared into the bathroom to return with some water from the tap for John's torn up throat and a packet of extra strength Tylenol. John took the cup and the pills with a grateful grimace then drained the small glass' contents in one large gulp after swallowing down the tylenol.

"Tha' knee still gives ya trouble, does it now lad?" The doctor asked quietly when he took the glass back and John nodded, stretching out the joint and biting back a groan as it protested with an angry pop. "Your damn lucky ya dinnea loose the whole leg in that explosion." Carson was offering an out, a chance to ignore what had just happened in the corridor and while John was grateful for what the doc was doing, there were questions he needed answered.

"What the hell was that bastard doing here, Rodney?" John asked looking over at the scientist who was still sitting beside him. "I thought you said he was nothing more than some glorified pencil pusher now."

"No, he is, John. I wasn't lying about that," he promised. "Landry told me this morning that he's been trying to get on base ever since he heard you were coming back. I think he wanted to try and apologize to you."

"At least that's what we think he was tryin' to do out there in tha corridor," Carson cut in. "But we couldnae really tell over your bellowing." John looked over at the doctor and Carson smiled. "I dinnea say you were wrong to do so, now did I?"

"Just..." he started, unsure of how to say what he needed to say, "promise me that coward will have nothing to do with the expedition. Give me your word on that and I'll do whatever the hell the SGC wants."

"There's no way in hell that man gets within 50 feet of that city, John." Rodney answered firmly and Carson nodded beside him.

"Aye, laddie. You have our word on tha' one."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned... big reveal coming soon, I promise :)


	9. That Old Warhorse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, three chapters in one day! Hope you enjoy.

A few hours later, dressed in the over starched Special Dress uniform that had been hanging on the back of his bathroom door, John pulled at the sides of the ill-fitting jacket he was stuffed into for the one hundredth time that morning and eyed his reflection in the full length mirror critically.

The garish and unfriendly overhead light of the VIP room left little to the imagination and he sat staring at himself for a good long while without moving. Who ever had guessed his measurements had come pretty damn close to getting them right, but the jacket he now wore was still just a little too tight across the shoulders and way too short to sit properly on his long torso. It was obvious the jacket hadn't been made for him and the whole effect had him feeling a bit like some old war horse, and one only brought out and paraded around for special occasions; stuffed into a uniform from a bygone age that no longer fit nor represented who he was anymore.

John had expected to put the new uniform on and feel like his old self again but the moment of clarity and purpose he'd been waiting for had never come and he felt off-kilter and completely uncomfortable. Maybe it was the altercation with Wolsey in the hall earlier that had done it? There had been a very real moment earlier in his quarters after he had finally talked Rodney and Carson into leaving him alone for a while when he'd very nearly changed his mind about everything, packed his bags and gotten the hell out of dodge, but in the end, he hadn't done it. Richard Wolsey had given an order eighteen years ago that had destroyed his world and John would be damned if he was going to let that scrawny little pencil pusher do it to him all over again... chase him away from this once chance the universe seemed to be giving him to return to a life that he loved.

So why did everything feel so out of balance?

Sighing in frustration and rolling his shoulders in one last desperate attempt to try and get the jacket to sit right on his frame, John finally gave up and grabbed for the hat sitting on the end of his bed. He rolled the cap in his hands, brushed a thumb over the embroidered silver insignia of a new military force he felt no loyalty for just yet, then put it on with one last glance over his shoulder at his reflection in the mirror.

"Here goes nothin'," he mumbled to himself on a sigh, and stepped out of the room and into the brightly lit corridor just outside his room.

At first John thought he was alone in the hallway. He'd sent Carson and Rodney away hours ago and even though he'd promised to walk with them to the ceremony, the idea of having some time alone to think about what had happened that morning trumped any promise he'd made to wait.

But John wasn't alone in the hallway and Rodney McKay pushed himself away from the hallway wall to walk over to where John stood feeling awkward and uncomfortable in the unfamiliar uniform that just didn't quite fit right.

"Wow, John. You look..." but John bristled and lifted a hand to stop him.

"Save it Rodney," he rasped and pulled again at the sides of his jacket. His voice had recovered a little from earlier in the morning, but it was still hoarse.

"But you look..."

"I'm serious McKay. Not another word." John warned with a gloved finger in the air but Rodney just ignored him and started circling, looking John over like some overzealous parent about to send their first kid off to the prom.

"It's not that bad at all!" The scientist smiled after he completed his circuit and stood once more in front of him. "You look like _you_ again!"

"Yeah, well I feel like an idiot," he muttered and turned on his heel to start walking down the corridor and off in the direction of the Gateroom, Rodney following along in the wake of his exasperation at the whole situation.

"You need to relax, John," Rodney scolded a little when he finally caught back up with John who cocked a sardonic eyebrow in the scientist's direction. "You got this!"

"That's easy for you to say, McKay. You're not the one who looks like a friggin' stuffed penguin." He pulled down at his jacket again for added emphasis.

"Honestly, you look great!" Rodney tried again. "And nobody would care if you _did_ look like a stuffed penguin, anyway." But John didn't believe a word of it and glared over at his friend.

"I just want to get this damn thing over with so that maybe things can finally get back to normal around here," he grumbled but Rodney just looked away didn't say anything back.

If he thought about it, John was kind of surprised he'd even made it this far, after that debacle in the hallway with Wolsey earlier. He'd spent a few tense hours in his temporary quarters just waiting for Landry himself to pound on the door and demand an explanation for his behavior, but in the end, no one had come. It was a testament, he figured, to just how badly they wanted to get the city back to Pegasus and the Atlantis expedition up and running again that they were willing to overlook the fact that he'd just threatened to kill a man in the middle of the SGC, and in front of her commanding officer no less. Still, no one had shown up to politely suggest that maybe perhaps this wasn't the best idea anymore, and John was now on his way through Cheyenne Mountain and headed towards his "Reenlistment Ceremony".

Rodney had promised, before John had summarily thrown him and Carson out of the room to pull himself back together again, that the ceremony was nothing more than a short and sweet service performed by General Landry over John and a handful of other aging soldiers in the Gateroom. It was a simple ceremony, he was promised, and all he would have to do was repeat a few phrases to become a full-fledged member of the United States Military once again. Yet if someone had suggested to John even a few days ago that he would headed to the SGC Gateroom this moment with Rodney friggin' McKay by his side to restart a life he'd long ago thought lost, John would have laughed right in their faces. The whole idea of coming back seemed laughable anymore and he found himself chuckling, not realizing he'd done it out loud.

"What's so funny?" Rodney asked with a curious sidelong glance in his direction and John ran a hand through his hair, not caring that it probably made his graying locks stand up on end or that it rode the jacket up again on his torso.

"Nothing, I was just thinking," he replied and tugged, yet again, at the seam of his uniform.

"You're not nervous are you?" Rodney asked and John looked over sharply.

" _No_." then as a sudden afterthought as his mouth went dry, "Why, should I be?" but the scientist just looked away sheepishly and John's stomach somersaulted. "McKay, I swear to god, if this ceremony is anything other than what you promised, I'll never forgive you for it."

"Relax, it's nothing like that," Rodney backpedaled quickly, suddenly looking nervous. "It's just that..."

"What, Rodney?" he resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. What the hell had he let them talk him into?

Rodney sighed. "Okay, look, the ceremony is open to anyone on base so there might be some other people there to watch you get reenlisted."

"Okay, so?" He shrugged, earning a wayward glance from McKay. "I figured as much." News of his arrival on base and subsequent spectacle with Wolsey in the hall had to have made it all over the mountain by now and John had figured at least a few people would want to see the legendary John Sheppard sworn back into service. ...Whether all those people thought it was a good thing or not, remained to be seen.

"I just thought that, well, after this morning, that maybe you wouldn't be up to all of this so soon." Rodney had gone back to staring at the floor in front of him as they walked and John let out an irritated sigh. Everyone was treating him with kid gloves anymore and he was getting sick of it... though he knew he couldn't really fault any of them for it. He _had_ gone ape-shit in the hallway earlier, but he was in control of the situation now and he would handle things the way he always did: internally and on his own time.

"I'm fine, Rodney. Really," he promised for what he was sure would not be the last time but McKay only shot him a disbelieving glance. John could tell he didn't buy it for a second. "Look, seeing Wolsey in the hallway this morning just took me a bit by surprise, okay? But I really am fine now, I promise." and the confession seemed to placate the scientist a bit. He looked away again and started to chuckle.

"God, did you see the look on Wolsey's face when he realized it was you standing there? I thought he was going to pass out!"

"I certainly scared the shit out of him, that's for damn sure," John laughed along, happy for the change in subject even though it wasn't that far off the previous topic.

"I've never seen Landry lose it like that before either," Rodney sniggered, "... _'Get the hell off my base Wolsey, before I tell them to let Colonel Sheppard go'_! It was priceless! Like something out of one of those movies you and Ronon used to make me watch with you." And just like that the light tone their conversation had taken on disintegrated and John tried not to let his footsteps falter over the past Rodney seemed hell bent on bringing up again and again, perhaps not realizing just yet that it was triggering something in John he was having a hard time handling, not that he'd ever admit it.

"So Landry seems like a good guy," he deflected and if Rodney picked up on the icy plunge the air around them had taken, he didn't let it show.

"He really is. And smart, too. He's a lot like his uncle that way, luckily for us."

John picked his next question carefully. "Do you trust him, Rodney?" He asked, and McKay stumbled a little as he walked, guessing, John figured, at what he really meant by the question.

Eighteen years ago John had put his trust in men who had betrayed him on an unimaginable level and now he was asking Rodney, his oldest of friends, if it was safe to reopen those floodgates he'd slammed shut on the world to start letting people back in again. But it wasn't only that. The not so simple as it seemed question was also an offer. An offer to let Rodney McKay back in first without evaluation or the prerequisite years of quarantine John normally demanded of those he let into his inner circle and the scientist seemed to understand the gravity of what John was both asking for and offering to him at the same time.

Rodney had been there that day too. He'd witnessed firsthand what had gone down between John, Wolsey and the other members of the IOA who had given that unspeakable order and now he had a decision to make that could not be made hastily or even lightly, for that matter.

Was Rodney going to relegate himself to the sidelines to sit unobtrusively and observe? Or was he all in; ready to gear up with John and join him on the front lines of the fight once again? It was a lot to ask and John found that they had both stopped short in the middle of the corridor while Rodney decided how he would answer.

"I _do_ trust, Landry," the scientist answered slowly, accepting the burden he was being offered, and John released a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding.

"He's a good man," Rodney continued and started them back off down the hall. "And he cares about people," he added last and John looked over at his friend solemnly as they walked.

"Alright then," he replied, sealing the deal, and Rodney nodded once. It had been a very long time since John had had anyone in his court, someone to go to bat for him, and he found the idea of a compatriot oddly comforting. Rodney McKay was no soldier, and they were both of them too old to still be doing this shit, but Rodney was an old friend and, if the last day or so was anything to go by, one who still had some weight to pull around at the SGC. People on base respected him and his work was important and there was a reason John still trusted him after all these years.

With a slight awkwardness still hanging in the air around them and wanting to get as far away from the chick flick moment brewing between them as he could get, John fell into silence and tried to ignore the fact that they were almost to the Gateroom.

As much as he hated to admit it, every step John took closer to that room where he would go through his Reenlistment Ceremony, chipped away a little at his hard earned calm. It had been a lifetime since he'd stood in the shadow of a Stargate and even though the military built chamber that held the SGC's gate lacked all the elegance and grace of the Atlantis gate, it was still a daunting prospect to be heading in there. John let his pace slow a bit and he swallowed back a mouthful of sour apprehension.

 _Shit_ , he wasn't ready for this. He'd tried to tell himself over and over again that he was, but he was just kidding himself. What he had done... it was unforgivable, and he was waltzing into a reenlistment ceremony without giving credence to that one huge black mark on his soul that desperate acts of redemption were never going to scrub clean. He was an idiot to think that he could ever just pick back up right where he had left off and he stopped dead in the center of the hallway unable to go any further. The heavy gray blast doors that lead into the room that housed the Stargate were only a few meters in front of him but John was rooted in pace by the past.

"John?" Rodney asked quietly, coming up beside him and pulling at one of his elbows. "Are you alright?" It was that damn question again only this time he knew his normal answer would be far from the truth.

"I don't think I can do this, Rodney," a voice he barely recognized said shakily as it cracked.

"Oh no you don't!" Rodney hissed suddenly and rounded on John to put both hands on either one of his shoulders, holding him firmly in place even when he tried to throw off Rodney's grip. "Damn it, John, Landry and I were not lying when we told you that there isn't a single person on this base who doesn't want you here! No one blames you and you owe it to me at least to pull yourself together and get your ass in that Gateroom and do this!"

John narrowed his eyes and met Rodney's heated gaze. The scientist was trembling slightly like he couldn't really believe he'd just said what he'd said, but his eyes held something that seemed to just dare John to walk away now and leave him again, and John stiffened at the sight of it. He wasn't exactly sure what to make of this new and improved Rodney McKay and part of him missed the acerbic, bumbling scientist he'd known from before. John straightened his shoulders instinctively under Rodney's penetrating glance, unsure of what to do and more conflicted than he'd ever been in his entire life, and tried to decide once and for all. He'd left this life behind for very good reasons and Rodney was demanding that he push it all aside and just let the universe unfold as it would. But before he could even make up his mind or put up any sort of defense, Rodney was behind him letting out a frustrated breath and shoving him forward into the Gateroom with a hand at his back.

He had been expecting a few curious onlookers to be present for the ceremony but nothing had prepared him for the crowd of people filling the Gateroom near to bursting or the stunned silence that fell over them all when he finally stumbled around the corner and stopped dead in his tracks once more with Rodney knocking into the back of him when he stopped short. The scientist stepped away quickly and John stood in the center of a parted sea of people looking a bit like a deer caught in headlights... only the ones barreling down on him were high beams.

John tensed, feet ready to wheel him around and pound him out of the room at a moment's notice if things went sideways but someone towards the back of the room began to clap and before John even realized what was happening the very air around him was vibrating with the concussive force of applause.

It was riotous and all the air left him as the crowd surged forward and smiles broke out on the faces of the men and woman who stepped up to meet him or slap him on the back in greeting. He craned his neck to get a look at Rodney, desperate for rescue, but the scientist could only offer a bewildered shrug as he was whisked deeper into the crowd. There wasn't a single face that wasn't beaming up at him from the crush of bodies, but John still felt the familiar bitterness of panic rise up into the back of his throat as he desperately tried to plaster a look of calm gratitude on his face for the unexpected welcome he was getting. Sweat beaded up on his forehead as if in warning and he did his best to inconspicuously wipe it away with a gloved hand, but it was no use. He hadn't been prepared for this but mercifully Even Lorne saved him a few moments later when he pushed through the crowd and threw an arm around his _almost_ shaking shoulders.

"Let's get this party started!" The newly minted Colonel exclaimed, giving John's shoulders a shake as he pushed him forward through the crowd and up to the safety of the raised Stargate platform before anyone else could stop them. John threw a grateful glance over his shoulder to Lorne who nodded knowingly before disappearing back into the crowd, then trudged himself up the metal ramp to join the six or so other reenlistees who were waiting at the top for the ceremony to start. A few of them shook his hand as he took his place at the end of the line they had formed, but most just looked him over with irritated glances or barely checked annoyance and John figured he could hardly blame them. Creating a spectacle was the last thing he'd wanted to do and he cursed Landry and McKay for making him go through something like this so publically when they could have just as easily done it in some unused SGC office or maybe even off base in New York or something. He really did feel like that old war horse then and he couldn't help but wonder if maybe Landry knew exactly what he was doing in performing the ceremony here with the whole of the SGC in attendance.

John could tell the moment General Landry arrived in the Gateroom and he tried not to scowl at the man as he watched him work the crowd on his way up to the platform. But for all his annoyance with the general at that moment for getting him into this mess, even John could admit the man knew how to work a room. It was a quality John had never mastered himself, but over the years he'd been lucky enough to have those around him who could. Elizabeth, Samantha Carter, hell even Wolsey knew a thing or two about the subtle art of ceremony and John had been content to let them handle it all, though he'd always made it a point to attend even the smallest of events. It was important to him that the men under him know he celebrated their achievements, even if it was just being there to watch... but there had been a few ceremonies over the years, important ones too, that he had been absent from.

There would have been a formal ceremony just like this one in this very room eighteen years ago, and another more private one held before the gate on Atlantis to honor two of her fallen... but john had missed those and then, just like that, without warning or preamble, John was no longer standing there in a line with other ageing soldiers waiting to be reenlisted. He had been hurtled back in time and was standing before an active Stargate waiting for the red and white rose'd wreaths to make their way up the platform behind him because there wasn't anything left of his friends to bury or send back home.

The funeral vision, brought to life so spectacularly by his traitorous brain, even though none of it was real, was enough to set his stomach to churning and his hands to shaking so badly he was surprised the man standing next to him didn't notice and turn around to ask him if he was okay. Thankfully Landry chose that exact moment to arrive up on the platform and all eyes were drawn away from John and up to the charismatic General as he began his speech. It was perfect timing and John had a few seconds to try and rein in his errant heart rate and control the outward signs his body was betraying. He emptied his face of all expression and tried to fight back against the panic attack that was doing everything in its power to unhinge him from within.

John wanted to bolt, to make one last mad dash for escape only there wasn't anywhere to escape to anymore. He carried his demons with him now and there was nowhere in the world he could go to escape them. They would follow behind him like the ghosts of his friends he could imagine standing behind Landry and looking to him for rescue. Only he never could rescue them. He'd been trying for eighteen years and the outcome always remained the same: they were dead and John hadn't been able to save them.

Just like out in the corridor, it was suddenly all too much. He was too old... too _lost_ to come back now and, more importantly, he didn't deserve it. Didn't deserve this ceremony or the crowd of people who had come to welcome him back. The SGC needed the John Sheppard from before the War. The one who could be sent out into battle and would come back the same man as had left. John couldn't even shoot a deer in the woods for christsake, let alone another human being or alien, so how was he supposed to run an expedition in another galaxy? How was he supposed to protect them all?

He wasn't the man for the job anymore and he had half a mind to leave his place in line and make a break for the exit. Desperate for something to break through the old ghosts crowding in around him, John pulled at the first thing to come to mind and pushed it to the forefront of his thoughts.

He thought about the little dock on the too fast river behind the cabin he'd built himself with his own two hands and the desperately floundering catfish glaring up at him from water darkened dock boards.

He thought about the sound the dead leaves made as they raced across the forest floor in the wind like rats trying to escape a sinking ship; the pitch black gaze of the buck he'd had dead to rights but just couldn't shoot.

He put all of that and more into the enormous task of keeping his shoulders steady as he pulled in steadying breaths and, after several tense moments when he was all but ready to bend over and lose his meager breakfast all over the shoes of the guy standing next to him, it actually started to work. He even managed to get through his part of the ceremony with no one the wiser and Landry finished a few minutes later with the announcement of his promotion and dismissed them.

It was over and it had been as short and sweet as Rodney had promised but while he'd managed to avoid disaster during the ceremony, there was still the matter of getting out of the Gateroom afterwards.

Landry had to have, at some point, told the base something to keep everyone he passed in the hall from stopping him to ask him where he'd been for the past twenty years, but now that he was officially back, it seemed to be an opening for anyone and everyone to pepper him with questions about his time away. He did his best to give vague, non-committal answers, but after only half an hour of small talk with the crowds of people still milling about hoping to get a chance to talk to him, John was nearing the end of his rope. The danger of a full blown panic attack seemed to have passed, but he was still jumpy and on edge and it was taking every bit of his self control to remain calm and act naturally. He made the occasional comment about how hot and stuffy the new uniforms were to hide the fact that sweat was still running down his neck and drenching his shirt but he kept catching Rodney's concerned eye from across the room and knew he wasn't fooling at least one person in the Gateroom. He was doing his best to keep it together but his hold on the situation was tenuous at best and John knew he needed to get out of there fast.

Excusing himself from a group of computer techs who had fallen into a conversation about Wraith technology after asking him a few questions about the aliens, John finally got his opportunity and made his way out of the Gateroom and into an empty hallway. He was fairly certain no one had seen him leave, but that hope was smashed a moment later when Rodney exited the room right behind him and made a beeline for where he was standing, leaning against a wall with his hat in his hands, fanning his overheated face. God, could he not get one moment alone?

"Don't you dare ask me if I'm alright, McKay," he growled in warning as the scientist approached and Rodney stopped a few feet away from him to fold his arms across his chest. "I'm _fine_."

"Yeah, sure you are John," McKay bit out dryly, the words coming out sharp and sardonic. "Because it's perfectly normal to freak out the way you just did in there."

"Oh come on, McKay. I didn't freak out."

"I thought for a minute there I was going to have to jump up on that platform and catch you before you passed out, John! There's something going on with you and I want to know what it is."

"It's nothing, Rodney. Okay? Nothing's going on with me," but he could tell his friend wasn't buying it for a moment. He needed something more... plausible to get McKay off his back.

"Look, it was hot in there, okay? And I wasn't expecting all those people to be there watching. It just... took me by surprise, is all," he lied again. Well, some of it was true, anyway, and he hoped the feint would work, but he wasn't entirely sure it had and the scientist stayed quiet for a moment.

"You know, every time I attend one of these ceremonies, I think of Ronon and Teyla."

"Oh yeah?" John asked cautiously but without looking up, tensing at Rodney's abrupt change in subject and suddenly worried about where he was headed with it. "Why's that?"

"I guess because they remind me of the days right after they died. There are a lot of things on this base that remind me of them, but it's worse when I visit Atlantis."

Crap, Atlantis. If John had this bad a reaction just standing in the gate room of the SGC, what was it going to be like seeing his city for the first time in nearly 20 years? Swiping a hand across his brow, John made himself say something.

"This isn't easy for me," he started slowly, hating how his own voice sounded, broken and cracked. "...Coming back after all these years like this."

"I get it," Rodney responded back, turning around so he was facing him again with a shoulder leaning against their shared wall, "I really do. But you can't keep telling people that your fine and that nothing's wrong. You don't have to talk to me or to Carson about it, or anyone else who knew you before the war for that matter, but do yourself a favor Sheppard, and find _someone_ to talk to before all of this" he said with a flourish of his hand over John, "turns into something you can't handle on your own anymore." Rodney paused as if giving John a chance to respond, but he stayed silent with eyes trained resolutely at the floor.

"Carson and I might not be there next time to hold you back," McKay finished quietly and with nothing more to say, pushed himself away from the wall and started to walk away. But he paused a moment later for one last glance back and John made himself look over.

"Landry wanted me to remind you that your expected down in the lower levels to start training this afternoon. There'll be a Corporal waiting to take you when you're ready." John wanted to stop his friend just then and ask why it was Rodney wasn't showing him the way himself, but he stayed silent and watched the scientist disappear back into the Gateroom.

In the years before the war John had been able to roll his eyes and let any attempt Rodney made at calling him out on his bullshit roll right off his shoulders, but things were different now somehow. This new version of an old McKay was picking up on things the old Rodney never would have and to make matters worse, he was getting it right for once, and not backing down when John tried to shut him up with a glare.

There _was_ something going on with him, he could give Rodney that much, and his panic attacks were getting worse and more frequent. But the thought of sitting down with someone he didn't even know to hash it out was quite possibly the worst idea he'd never heard; not to mention pure torture. The things he'd done, the lives he'd taken, how could Rodney expect him to just sit down with a complete stranger and trudge through that nuclear waste dump? For as long as he could remember John had been a private, guarded man, and 18 years on the lam had only helped to reinforce that aspect of his personality so talking to someone about the fact that he might be cracking up was kind of out of the question. Besides, he didn't have time to crack up and he pushed away from the wall to head back to his room and get ready for his afternoon training session.

 

**SGASGASGASGASGASGASGASGASGASGA**

A while later and clothed once again in BDUs so familiar he wasn't sure he hadn't stepped out of the shower and back into 2007, John was on his way down to the lower levels of the SGC to meet with the team of people handpicked by Landry himself to help him get back into shape after nearly two decades out of uniform. With the familiar camouflage on and the Reenlisting Ceremony long over, he was finally starting to feel a little more at ease and he let a little of the tension around his frame loosen a bit as he walked.

In addition to his daily training sessions, John had learned from the Corporal escorting him that he would attend classes with the rest of the recently reenlisted to get a crash course on the newly restructured United States Government and her military. He also wasn't certified on any of the new weaponry, so there would be that as well because even if he was just in Atlantis in a leadership capacity, he still needed to be able to defend himself and the city against any potential enemies. John had to admit, it was kind of nice to be at the bottom again. He hadn't had to prove anything to anyone in a long time and the idea of having to earn back the right to be amongst the elite ranks of the United States Strategic Force wasn't daunting, it was almost exhilarating. His only apprehension was the ever present panic attacks that seemed to trigger every time he was faced with something that reminded him of the past.

When he thought about it, he figured it all had started when he'd begun hunting with Eddie a few years back. Eddie, jesus. What would big old Eddie Nostrand think of him now? John had half a mind to drop that blue collar old bar owner a line or two while he prepared for Atlantis but knew he never would. This life and the life he'd left back in Blue River, well... they weren't compatible. Back in Wisconsin John had been his own man and he was pretty sure the team waiting for him on the lower levels of the SGC was ready to beat that right out of him, and they would be right to. It was like basic all over again, where they beat you down to build you back up the way you needed to be to survive other galaxies and hostile alien races, and John wondered how his little team would deal with the reinforced walls of sheer stubbornness he'd managed to build up around himself over the years. John would try, of course, but 18 years of brushing your teeth when and where you wanted was a lot different from the rigorous structure of the US Military; granted the SGC was a little more lax than say an Air Force base or a Seal Team training facility.

John also kind of liked the fact that even though the patches on his shoulders proclaimed him a Brigadier General now, the men he was going to meet next wouldn't care if he was a wet behind the ears Airmen or a five star general and he only hoped they would show him no mercy. He hadn't been pushed to the edge of physical endurance in a long while and one of his worst fears was that the men picked to train him would take one look at his 55 year old body and go easy on him. John had given himself a lifetime of self-pity and he was over the feeling. He was ready to have an angry face in his, spitting out orders he knew he would follow regardless of his rank.

As it turned out, John pretty much had nothing to worry about on that front. Ten minutes later he found himself being ushered into a training room not much unlike the ones he'd trained soldiers in himself back in the day, and was introduced by the Corporal accompanying him to Sean Fitzpatrick, former Navy Seal and possible former MMA fighter, but John was only guessing at that part.

Former Petty Officer First Class Sean Fitzpatrick, or Fitz as he asked to be called, was built like a Ford truck and looked John over with the causal disinterest of a mountain lion eyeing sickly prey. Broad in the shoulders with biceps as big as the punching bags that hung from the wall behind him, Fitz had to top the scales at 265 pounds of pure muscle at least and for several seconds after John had met the man, he was fairly certain he'd made the wrong decision in staying. The Irishman had a shock of red hair like something out of the movies and he had the slightest lit to his voice that reminded John of Carson's Scottish brogue at times. The whole effect was rounded out by a piercing green eyed stare that seemed to pick up on every subtle movement both on the outside of those Fitz observed, and on the inside as well. And while John instantly took a liking to the younger looking former Seal, his guard went up as they shook hands. Fitz was an intelligent but fierce Irish kid with a sharpness to him John would have to be careful not to cut himself on.

"It's nice to meet you Brigadier General, but you don't work with me today," the big man rumbled, releasing his hand after they'd been introduced by the Corporal who'd brought John down to the lower levels and hadn't wasted any time in hightailing it out of there.

"No?" He asked a little apprehensively, not quite sure what to make of his new trainer just yet.

"No, Sir. Dr. Becket is waiting for you in the office over there." Fitz pointed a beefy finger in the direction of a closed door on the other side of the room and John thanked him before heading off to go in search of Carson. He could feel the young Seal's eyes follow him but he ignored the feeling and opened the door into an area that reminded John a little of a doctor's office. This was a little offshoot of the base's own medical wing, used mostly for sports related injuries, and John found Carson waiting for him on the other side of the room while he spoke to a fair haired young Lieutenant leaning against a set of crutches. The interior of the room was complete with pastel painted beach scenes, outdated magazines, yet none of the ubiquitous wooden children's toys he'd seen in every other doctor's office he'd visited in his lifetime.

"Col... och, forgive me, _Brigadier General_ Sheppard, hello. Come for your physical have ya?"

"I guess. Fitzpatrick sent me over," he said and pointed a thumb back the way he'd just come.

"Oh Fitz! Well that was nice of the lad!" Carson smiled then turned his attention back to the Lieutenant in front of him who was wobbling dangerously on her crutches. John stepped forward quickly in case the woman toppled over but she righted herself at the last minute and glared over at him.

"Now Macy, I want you to elevate tha' and get plenty of rest. If the swelling doesnea go down at all with the ice, come back and see me, alright?" The woman looked back over at Carson, her face softening back to friendly, and nodded her agreement before saying goodbye to the doctor with a smile and completely ignoring John on her way out.

"Nice lady," he muttered as she disappeared out the door, and Carson laughed.

"Aye, sprained her ankle rock climbing and is none too happy about it. Tha' woman would have been able to give Teyla a run for her money." Carson's eyes clouded over a bit and John shifted on his feet.

"So, I guess you have to run some tests, Carson?" John nudged a little, trying to steer Carson into less stormy waters and the doctor blinked over at him.

"What? Oh aye. Nothing too involved; just a physical, taking some blood and we'll give you a quick scan."

"Scan?" He asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Aye, do ya remember the Ancient scanner we had back on Atlantis in the Infirmary?" John nodded. "Well, Rodney reversed engineered the technology so now we have one of our very own here on base. Pretty smart that one." Carson finished with a wink.

"Who, Rodney?" John joked, knowing full well who Carson had meant.

"Yes, but dinnea tell him I told you so," Carson smiled and ushered him into another room.

John spent the rest of his first day as Brigadier General trapped in the medical levels of Stargate Command being poked, prodded, and scanned all so Carson Beckett could waive a clipboard under his nose when it was all said and done and declare him perfectly fit, except for being a little on the thin side of healthy. He had the heart of a 35 year old, they told him and promised that anything Petty Officer Fitzpatrick had planned for him in the coming days would not, in fact, kill him and he was sent back to his bunk with a food diary to track his calorie intake and one massive headache. His knee had even managed to pass inspection, though Carson had given him a brace to wear while training and for his morning runs. He'd taken it without question, knowing the only reason he hadn't used one on his own up until now was because of sheer stubbornness, but there was no room for any of that anymore. It was going to be difficult, but he would re-acclimate himself to this world before long, or die trying.

He figured he owed at least that much to Rodney... and every other person who had crowded into the Gateroom this morning to see him reenlisted - whether or not he thought he deserved the welcome they'd given him. John would do this for them and for all the lives he'd managed to destroy so many years ago by blindly following a simple order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big question answered in the next chapter but our adventure is far from over. Next chapter posted tomorrow :)


	10. Breaking Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year :)

Later that evening, once John had settled in to his new quarters down by the rest of the soldiers living on base, a knock came at his door that he had been expecting for a while. True to their word Rodney, Carson and Lorne had come to collect him so he could accompany the three men down the mountainside to visit the little cemetery that held the crosses of fallen SGC soldiers and civilians alike that had given their lives in the service of their country.

The graveyard they were headed to wasn't much. Just a small, private square of fenced off frozen earth tucked up against the meandering roots of the mountain at the base of its eastern most face. It was accessed by a thin paved lane that branched itself away from the main drag meandering up the side of Cheyenne Mountain and was dotted with a collection of dark headstones and simple crosses that were slowly being covered by the snow.

There were no bodies buried in the graveyard, the Stargate rarely sent her dead back whole, but it was home to a few soldiers who had no one to claim their remains and whose urns were held reverently in a small monument nestled up snuggly against the mountain.

The graveyard was well taken care, John noted with some satisfaction. While the mountain around them was buried in a few feet of snow at least, the graveyard had been painstakingly shoveled... though the snow that had begun falling as soon as they had arrived was quickly taking back over the graves. A thin crystalline layer of ice had collected on every surface and added an almost ethereal feel to the graveyard as John cast his eyes around the twinkling tops of the stones and crosses in search of the two he'd come for.

He found them tucked respectfully back in one pine tree lined corner of the cemetery, the markers side by side for eternity, perpetually memorializing in cold gray stone, the names of Teyla Emmagan and Ronon Dex.

John walked silently through the quietly falling snow and stood before the graves of the two people he'd give anything in the world to have by his side in that moment. There was an empty space inside his heart that he would never be able to fill again now that they were gone and he felt that space throb a bit with grief as he pictured the faces of his friends.

He knew that 'what ifs' were pointless and that he was just punishing himself with them, but John couldn't help but wonder, had he managed to save both of them somehow, would that one terrible thing he'd been running from all these years ever have happened? If he'd only had them there with him to find another solution, then maybe he wouldn't be standing here more terrified than he'd ever been in his entire life, about to plunge back into the very world that had stolen them both away.

John knelt down before the stones, ignoring the warnings his knee gave, and used a bare hand to brush away some gathered snow that had adhered itself to the face of Ronon's marker and he knew there were words he needed to say in that moment, apologies he needed to make, but he found he couldn't put them into words, even with McKay, Carson and Lorne keeping a respectful distance. There was too much to say and any meager words of his wouldn't be enough, so he settled for resting a hand to each grave in turn in the stillness of that place before rising from his crouch and looking over at his friends still hanging back. He gestured with a tilt of his head that they should join him and the four settled into a crude semi circle around the stones.

Carson cleared his throat and broke the silence first. "I'd like to say something if no one objects," he asked quietly and John looked over to the doctor's stoic face and agreed along with the others.

"It's just a wee poem me mum always loved, so you must forgive me the sappiness." When no one brokered argument, Carson began:

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here,  
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer -  
A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe;  
My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go.

Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North  
The birth place of Valour, the country of Worth;  
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,  
The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.

Farewell to the mountains high cover'd with snow;  
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below;  
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods;  
Farwell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here,  
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer  
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe;  
My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go.*

"I like it," Rodney said a little stiffly when Carson finally finished and the doctor looked up and over at the scientist with glint in his eye John didn't miss. "It's fitting for them."

"Aye, it's one I'm always reminded of when I find myself thinking back on them. Ronon especially. That lad never was happier than when he was reminiscing about his home world."

"We should try to do this every year," Lorne spoke up. "You know, meet here around the same time and pay our respects together. I think we owe them that at least now that we're all back together again."

No one glanced his way after Lorne had said it, but John got the distinct impression that the suggestion had been directed at him mostly.

"Excellent idea, laddie," Carson agreed with a nod then went on with a smile. "I'm sure it could be arranged with our new expedition leader to see to it that we get back to Earth every year 'round this time."

"Is that so?" John knew he should be probably be irritated by Carson's cheeky presumption, but he let the corner of his mouth cock upwards in a crooked half smile anyway.

"Oh, sure! I hear he's a right crabby old bastard, but that he's got a heart of gold. Shouldnea be too hard convincing him it's a good idea, considerin' he'd be expected to go," Carson ribbed good-naturedly with a smile in John's direction and the four men started to laugh. It was a sound the graveyard hadn't heard in a good long while and a brisk northerly wind dipped down from the sky to steal the sound away and pull it back up into the snow heavy clouds.

"It's a nice place out here. I'm glad they did this for them," Rodney said next and they all looked down to the graves again and settled back into solemnity.

"You shouldnea be so modest, Rodney. Lorne and I know you had a big hand in getting these stones put up for Teyla and Ronon. Ya didnea let those bastards sully their memories, you should be proud of yourself for that," Carson stated firmly and John glanced over at Rodney as the scientist flushed a bit at the unsought for compliment. There was still so much about those years after the War that he needed to find out about. The hard part was going to be finding the right time and place to ask about them and he couldn't decide for the life of him if this moment was it.

"What did you do, Rodney?" John found himself asking anyway and McKay shifted uncomfortably which surprised him. The Rodney McKay he knew from before would have jumped at the opportunity to toot his own horn.

"Go on, Rodney," Carson pushed, "tell tha man what you did."

"It's nothing really. I just refused to turn over some research until they agreed to give Ronon and Teyla a proper send off. That's all."

"That's not what I heard," Lorne spoke up forcefully, and John, Carson and Rodney all turned their heads to look at him at the same time. "It was all over the base about how you holed yourself up in your lab and threatened to release _all_ the details about what had happened in the War to the public if they didn't arrest those IOA members and get these put up for Teya and Ronon. Those assholes never stood a chance."

"It got the job done I suppose," Rodney said as nonchalantly as he could, casting his eyes down at the toes of his boots, but John got the feeling there was more to the story.

"It brought down every single one of them in the end so I'd say it more than got the job done," Lorne continued undeterred, clasping a hand on McKay's shoulder. "You were a real hero Rodney."

"Well, you know, I am a genius after all," McKay grinned and tapped the point of an index finger against his temple but sobered quickly. "I just wish I could have done it sooner, before..."

"Hey, Mitchell and Sam knew what they were getting themselves into smuggling you those documents and recordings, Rodney. You can't blame yourself for that." John watched Lorne step in closer to the scientist. "That wasn't your fault."

"Boy, you all sure know how to ruin a moment, don't you?" Rodney said a little desperately with a laugh that sounded forced.

"Hey, why don't we head back? I'm starving and its freezing out here," he suggested abruptly and shook off the hand Lorne still hand on his shoulder under the guise of an overdramatic shiver, and John watched Evan eye Rodney gravely.

That should have been him - John realized suddenly - comforting McKay and trying to convince him he'd done the right thing all those years ago. But John had chosen to flee instead of sticking around to help fight and now he was going to have to live with the fact that others had stepped in to do for the world what he couldn't.

Their little semi circle broke apart a moment later and John followed behind his three friends back to their jeep in silence. The trip back up the mountain was a little treacherous as the sky had decided to open up fully and release a snowfall so thick it was nearly impossible to find the road again, but eventually they had and arrived back at the SGC covered in snow. Lorne suggested another trip to the Officer's Club to warm up with a few beers but John was starting his training in the morning and feigned the need for a good night's sleep as an excuse to bow out. Truth was, after the day he'd just had - first with Wolsey, then the Reenlisting Ceremony and then their little trip down to the mountain graveyard - he just wanted a few minutes to himself to think things through. He had a lot on his mind and sleep was going to be elusive even though he was in desperate need of a good night of it.

John said his goodbyes to Rodney, Carson and Lorne near the elevators then made his way down the halls and towards his new bunk. There weren't a lot of soldiers living on base at the moment, the Stargate Program still just getting up on its feet, but it was nice to be back amongst the living again after so many years of self-imposed solitude. He passed a few men on their way to the mess, grumbling good naturedly about the turkey surprise being served yet again in the chow line, and finally came to the little windowless bunk that would be his for the next however many weeks it would take to transform him from recluse, back into a soldier.

The room John been given was fairly spacious but it lacked any of the character of his old bunk back on Atlantis, not that it mattered much. Everything he owned anymore fit into the worn green duffle still sitting in the same place on the end of the bed where he'd left it earlier and there wasn't much use in unpacking it to make the space more his own. His Johnny Cash poster was long gone. The trinkets he'd brought with him to Atlantis from home all those years ago were probably packed away in some dusty forgotten place deep in the mountain and mostly his duffle was stuffed with clothes except for the few picture frames that had somehow managed to survive Rodney's breakneck driving the other day. John thought about digging them out of the bag and setting them up on the small empty table beside his bed, but he decided against it in the end. Being back in Cheyenne Mountain still felt strange to him and he wasn't ready to fully embrace the fact that he was back into all of this quite yet. He needed time to process, to find out what was expected of him, and to make peace with the fact that he'd even been asked back in the first place. He was just waiting for someone to slip up and ask him about what had happened all those years ago and John wasn't entirely sure he would be able to keep his cool when the questions inevitably came. He felt a bit like a time bomb just waiting for all the right elements to click into place before he exploded and he pitied the person who triggered him first.

John set his duffle on the floor beside the bed and didn't even bother to strip out of his BDUs before collapsing down on top of the bed. Freshly laundered linens were sitting in a neat pile on the desk across the room and his training called to him to make his bed to Air Force regulation, but John wasn't ready for that just yet. He would have plenty of time over the coming weeks to get himself back in that neatly ordered headspace, but for now he was content to just lay on top of the worn and threadbare military issue comforter that covered the bed and stare up at the ceiling. He'd been given a little green desk lamp and the light did its best to illuminate the room in a weak glow. It was a far cry from the rustic rooms of his cabin, but it was warm and would serve him well for however long he was stuck here.

John let his thoughts wander back to Blue River and he wondered what Carrie might be doing and if she had any idea where he was in that moment or what it was he was preparing to do. The surviving civilians of the War had never been given the full story on what had happened with the Wraith and John couldn't help but wonder if Carrie would have been with him had she known how instrumental he was in practically ending the world. He liked to think that she would understand if she got the full story, but a part of him knew he was a fool to think so. She hadn't lost anyone in The Great Culling, but she had fallen victim to the chaos and horror of those first few years after a third of the world's population had disappeared and entire cities had burned to the ground. She owed all of that to him and John doubted she could have ever found it in her heart to love him had she known what he had done. Still,it was her smile he saw when he closed his eyes and folded his arms across his chest to try and get some sleep and her laugh that invaded his dreams for once, instead of the faces of the dead.

 

**SGASGASGASGASGASGASGASGASGASGASGASGA**

 

The next morning after a few quick laps around the SGC's elevated running track and a inhaled breakfast of soupy oatmeal with Rodney, John found himself on his way back down to meet with Former Petty Officer Sean Fitzpatrick in the training facility to begin his first day of preparation for Atlantis. He didn't have the slightest clue as to what was in store for him down there because there really wasn't anyone on base who'd been through the type of program he was about to go through to ask about it. His was a special case and while the idea of something new and unknown was kind of exciting, going in blind was not. The kid who would be training him was built like a horse and John had heard some whispered gossip about him as he'd shoveled down breakfast that morning with Rodney but the scientist had no useful intel when he'd plopped himself down to join John. He was on his own and John wasn't sure how he felt about it.

The SGC training facilities were located one level below his bunk and had been covered from floor to ceiling in khaki green mats that reminded John a little of the ones his old high school gymnasium used to have. The folded faded ones with shoddy padding that the gym teacher would make them pull out every time they did any kind of activity that might involve bodily harm. The padding was pathetic and John knew the first time he was slammed into one, it was going to hurt. At various stations around the rooms were different training scenarios that ranged anywhere from empty space to spar in openly, an elevated ring for hand to hand combat training, to some cardio and weight training stations thrown in as well. There was no one else in the room besides Fitzpatrick who was waiting for John near a table by the open sparing space with his back turned.

"Petty Officer Fitzpatrick?" John said carefully as he approached the former Seal from behind and announced his presence as loudly as he could so as not to startle the man. The former Petty Officer didn't seem like the kind of man who took kindly to being snuck up on.

"Brigadier General Sheppard," the man offered back as he turned. He was as big as John remembered and was holding a Bantos rod in one of his wrapped hands. It's twin and another set of them were propped up against the table behind him.

"First rule of my gym is that we're all equals down here. There's no pulling rank and I could care less who you are. And if you call me Petty Officer one more time, I'll mop the floor with you." Fitzpatrick's eyes sparked a bit with an unvoiced dare but John just made himself nod.

"Fair enough."

"I understand you have some experience with these?" The former Seal asked, holding up the Banthos stick before offering John wraps for his hands when he nodded. He almost smiled as he reached for them, but thought better of it. Fitzpatrick wasn't just asking him a question. Fitzpatrick was informing him that he'd read up on John, was familiar with his history, and that he was going to make use of every aspect of it that he could.

John took the offered hand wraps and, after removing his shoes and socks, started into the process of protecting his knuckles and palms against the sticks he was about to work with. He didn't really need them, there were grips on the ends of the rods, but it had been a long time since he'd used them and wrapping would save him from some painful blisters later on. The process was automatic really, and he relished the feeling of old muscle memory as he worked. Fitzpatrick was going to dive right in and John was glad for it, his earlier fears of being treated differently because of his rank and age flying out the window. A preemptive strike was a smart move on the part of the former Petty Officer. He could use it to his advantage and both get a picture of John's overall abilities and instincts, as well as prove his own and how exactly this was all going to play out between them. And John could use it to his advantage just as well. It was his one chance to show what he was made of set the tone for the next few weeks.

"What have you been doing to stay in shape?" Fitz asked as he worked, watching him with that sharp edged gaze of his that set John's teeth on edge just slightly as he made quick work of wrapping his hands. "Dr. Beckett seems to think you're up for just about anything I could throw at you except for some issues with your knee."

"It doesn't always bother me," John replied, wriggling the fingers of one hand a bit after he'd finished. "and I run mostly." Fitzpatrick nodded and then handed John his own pair of sticks. They were heavy in his hands but familiar and he followed the former Seal on to the mats that had been set up in one corner of the training facility. There was still no one else in the room with them, though he knew there were other people around nearby, and John was secretly relieved. He didn't know how his body was going to react to being put back into intense situations like these again after so many years of being at ease and he was glad there wouldn't be anyone else around to see him get his ass handed to him should things go sideways. Truth was, that while he hoped he still had that seemingly bottomless reserve of strength and stamina he seemed to have in his youth, John wasn't 35 years old anymore, even though he wished desperately in that moment as he followed Fitzpatrick into the sparing space, that he could be.

John moved back and forth across the mats to get a feel for their springy foam beneath his bare feet and gave the Bantos sticks clutched in his hands an experimental twirl. It had been a long time since he'd held the rudimentary weapons in his hand, but had to admit, it felt damn good, and he tried out a few of the moves he remembered as Fitzpatrick watched on, limbering himself up with a few stretches rather than with the sticks. John used the weight of the sticks to get blood flowing into the muscles of his core again and when they were both ready, Fitz walked to the center of the sectioned off space and clacked his two sticks together.

"Let's just see what happens," the Irishman suggested with tilt of the head and a mischievous glint to his eye as he shook the tension from his frame and John settled into a familiar stance he hadn't taken up in nearly two decades.

The muscles of his legs and arms engaged immediately and his heart rate ratcheted up a few notches in his chest as he flexed his hands around the Bantos held near his shoulder instinctively. This was something he knew, something that was still as much a part of him as breathing and he almost faltered then as his brain took him back to long forgotten memories of sparing with Teyla.

Something bitter flooded the back of his throat unexpectedly and Fitzpatrick picked up on the minute change in him almost immediately, stepping forward to make his first strike. John wasn't ready for it and even though he managed to raise up one of his rods just in time to deflect the attack, Fitzpatrick's stick glanced off his own and caught him in the hand. He hopped off, shaking out his stinging fingers and Fitzpatrick stood his ground in the center of the space, loosening his neck muscles with tilt of his head in either direction but saying nothing. John recovered, walked back over to him, and resumed his starting stance. One corner of Fitzpatrick's mouth turned upwards and he shuffled forward a bit as if to strike, sending John back a few cautious steps as he tensed, but didn't make a move. John took advantage of the opportunity and sprang forward.

Their sticks met in the space between them as Fitzpatrick blocked, but he dropped one of them a moment later, caught one of John's wrists in his beefy grip and twisted until John had no choice but to drop his own and rub at his wrist when the former Navy Seal finally let go.

"Come on, Sheppard," he goaded, face breaking out into full on grin this time full of nothing but mocking insincerity. "I thought you were supposed to be good at this." John bit his tongue against a retort and picked his stick back up from the floor. This cocky kid was staring to piss him off.

Centering his weight with a cleansing breath, John tried to clear his mind and focus his brain in on the task at hand. All his life he'd had good instincts and they had kept him alive for this long, but memories of the past kept trying to push their way up into his mind and throw him off balance. He tried to shake them off, jumped a bit on the mat to get his blood flowing again, but it was no use. Fitzpatrick again picked up on his hesitation and with a strike so fast John nearly lost sight of him, their next skirmish ended with Fitzpatrick's stick held inches away from John's bad knee and both his sticks lying uselessly on the mat beside him.

"Shit." He pushed the kid out of his personal space, picked up his sticks again, but the former seal didn't give him any time to recover and came at him again and for a few breathless seconds the training room was filled with nothing but the sound of wood against wood as John managed to block blow after ruthless blow until finally Fitzpatrick swept his feet out from under him with a quick maneuver John hadn't been expecting and he crashed to the floor in a heap. As he suspected, the mats offered little cushion and he got back up onto his feet with a grimace, bent over slightly and holding an arm to his middle where the former Seal had managed to elbow him in the bout.

"Better, but I gotta say, I'm a little underwhelmed here, Sheppard." The kid practically laughed over at him and John pulled himself up to full height. Without warning, he rushed Fitzpatrick who avoided his strike easily enough and John's Bantos cut through empty air as the Seal clacked his sticks together again. "Almost!" Fitzpatrick was all cocky smile and John wanted nothing more in that moment than to knock that stupid grin right off his face. He readied his stance again and let his feet take him where they would. It was a game, always a game, now if he could only find that calm focused center that had always made him a master at this particular one.

Circling each other they spent the next few minutes offering up half hearted attacks that were meant more to test each other's reflexes and technique than to inflict any real damage until Fitzpatrick burst forward into a sudden strike that sent John stumbling backwards to recover. He blocked a stick headed straight for his face as best he could, but the end of the other came up to get him in the solar plexus and he bent over double again as he lost the ability to breath.

"Shit Sheppard, with instincts like those, it's no wonder all those people died on your watch." Fitzpatrick said quiet and low, taking John completely by surprise, and he stopped heaving immediately to look over at the man who had just addressed him, not sure he'd really just heard what his brain was telling him he had.

"What the hell did you just say to me?"

"You heard me," Fitzpatrick said back defiantly and put his sticks up as John fought to control the anger that was starting to set the blood in his veins to boiling and straightened. Part of him wanted to drop his own Bantos rods and stalk out of the gym right that very moment, but his feet stayed rooted firmly in place. Oh, it was on.

"I mean, come on," Fitzpatrick continued. "With skills like those, it's no wonder you let them all die."

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" He tensed as Fitzpatrick took a quick step forward but didn't make a move. He couldn't believe what the hell he was hearing, and from some punk ass kid no less.

"Me? I'm just a former Petty Officer who trains sorry-ass old ex-soldiers. Who the hell are you?" Fitzpatrick prodded, prancing forward a few steps again and John blocked a quick swipe the former Seal took at his head without warning, but Fitzpatrick recovered quickly, grabbing the arm John had used to block and pulling him in to sink another elbow into John's midsection with no mercy.

"Nope, you're going to have to do better than that," he mocked as John doubled over and fought to catch his breath yet again. "And here I thought I was about to spar with someone who knew what the hell they were doing." Fitz let his sticks fall and John bum rushed him, aiming for the Seal's midsection and missing by a mile when the kid weaved away.

"Hear something you didn't like?" he half laughed and answered back with a full body lunge of his own that set John flat on his back. He rolled onto his hands and knees, wheezing a little and glared up angrily at Fitzpatrick. The former Seal just smiled.

"Come on already Sheppard! Quit pussyfooting around! Get up off your ass and _hit_ me already!" The Irishman practically yelled and John sprang back up to his feet again, anger fueling something inside as he threw himself into an all out attack. Fitzpatrick seemed to anticipate it but did nothing more than block any blows that came near his face and he let John expend his energy just trying to make contact with his body. When John's arms started to tire and he had to back off a bit, Fitz made his move. The former seal engaged without warning, throwing John off balance, managing to swing around behind him as he tried to recover and had John on the floor in a choke hold before he even knew what had happened. The kid was fast and showing him up at every opportunity and John's blood was boiling as he fought to get out of the hold.

"This is beyond pathetic!" Fitzpatrick hissed into his ear from behind him. "How the hell do you expect to be able to lead an entire expedition of scientists and soldiers if you can't even control your own emotions enough to hit me with a _stick_!?"

John got his hands up between his throat and the Bantos, "I haven't done this in 18 fucking years, you psychopath, you can't expect me to be able to win against someone like you."

"That's bullshit and you know it! Bantos fighting isn't about who's bigger. It's about focus and discipline. But you wouldn't know focus and discipline if they came up behind you and bit you in the ass, would you Sheppard?" Beyond pissed and seeing red, John mercilessly nailed Fitzpatrick in the nose with the back of his head and the Seal fell away from him with a cry as John rolled away to pull in ragged breaths as coughing overtook his abused throat. He clutched a hand to it and tried to calm himself down enough to pull in a purposeful breath but it wasn't working so well. Fitzpatrick staggered to his feet and when John finally was able to look over at the man, the former Seal was holding a hand to his nose and blood was welling up out from between his fingers. He let the hand fall away a moment later when he saw John was looking at him and widened his mouth into a bloody grin.

"You are so twisted up and pissed off inside right now that I bet you don't even know what side of the bed to piss on, do you? Blind anger might get you back up on your feet in a firefight, Sheppard, but it sure as hell won't keep you or any of the men under you, alive."

"I'm not angry." John rasped out. This kid was nuts.

"Oh no? You're so focused on the past its eating you alive and its going to get you and everyone under your command killed."

"Did you get all that from reading some fucking file on me?" John spit out, voice straining as he pulled himself up off the mat and back to standing . "You think hearing a few stories about what happened to me back then and a few rounds with me in the ring are enough to know who the hell I am?"

"I saw you at the Reenlisting Ceremony this morning, Sheppard. You were barely holding it together. You're scared shitless, and what makes it even worse, is that you don't even know how to make it all stop, do you?" Anger burned its way through John's core and into his very fingertips and he lurched forward, stick striking out to catch Fitzpatrick in the side but the former Seal didn't even try to block the blow and staggered back a few paces with a laugh.

"Again!" he yelled and John was all too happy to oblige, and savored the feeling of his next blow as one of his sticks struck home spectacularly and the hit reverberated up his arm.

"Again!" Rage whited out everything but the man standing in front of him and John let it carry him away as he let go of everything but pure aggression and attacked Fitzpatrick with the strength of every memory, every face that haunted his nightmares. For immeasurable moments the pair were lost in a blinding battle for dominance that brokered no mercy. It was an entirely one sided fight, John would realize later, because he was the one fighting to regain a part of himself he'd lost somewhere along the way and Fitzpatrick was only there trying to make sure that it happened.

The fight was dirty and viscous and eventually turned into fists as John used up every bit of rage and helplessness and uncertainty that was lurking in his soul until he wasn't even sure what he was doing anymore. Fitzpatrick held his own though and it ended several minutes later with John lying on his side on the floor, clutching his hands around his aching midsection and trying desperately to draw in enough air to get rid of the stars in his field of vision as blood from a cut on the side of his face gathered on the ground near his eye. Fitzpatrick was somehow still on his feet but even he was bent at the middle trying just as hard to catch his own breath as blood dribbled from his nose and down onto the mat beneath his feet. The former Seal threw down his sticks, straightened with a quick strangled moan then walked over to the table then back over to where John lay curled in on himself.

"Here," he said, holding a bottle of water out to John as he pushed himself up to sitting to take the offered water without comment.

John's body was a throbbing mass of trauma and his mind was still reeling from what he had just done, but he felt hollow inside somehow, like the very walls he had spent years building up around himself had been decimated in the fight he'd just had and their contents had been allowed to spill out to places unknown. He'd lost it completely and the evidence of that was painted plainly on the face of the man who plopped down on the mat beside him a moment later to open up his own bottle of water and dump it unceremoniously over his head, not caring that he sent little pink rivers of diluted blood all over the mats. John pulled his legs in and drained his own bottle in a few long greedy pulls. It was delicious after his exertions and he didn't refuse the second bottle he was handed.

"Tell me about Teyla and Ronon," Fitzpatrick said quietly when John had finished the second bottle and he looked up at the man. The former Seal was still bleeding from the nose and several bruises were starting to darken various areas around his face and John studied the man sitting across from him for a second or two with trepidation. It didn't take long for realization to dawn, or anger at himself to flare up for having fallen so spectacularly into the trap Fitzpatrick had set, but he just didn't have the strength left anymore to put back up his defenses. Nothing the formal Seal had done today had been an accident and John was snared.

"I trusted the wrong Wraith and it cost them their lives. Then I left their bodies behind on that Super hive when I blew it straight to hell," he answered hoarsely, unsure of what details about the War Fitzpatrick had been given but too beaten down to really care if he revealed something he shouldn't.

Fitzpatrick nodded slightly and opened another water bottle. "And you blame yourself for what happened to them?"

"What do you think?"

Fitzpatrick looked him over for a second then shrugged. "I don't _think_ anything, Sheppard. You gotta tell me."

John sighed, wincing when his ribs protested the movement with a white hot twinge. John had to take a moment but he answered. "I trusted Todd and it was the wrong move. That was my call, so yeah, I blame myself for what happened to them."

"Todd was the Wraith ally you guys had on Atlantis?" Fitzpatrick asked.

John nodded. " _Had_ being the operative word. He gave us some intel on a Super Hive ship one of his little minions had developed behind his back. Only he failed to mention that the Super hive had enough fire power to blow our entire fleet out of the sky and that they were expecting us. We barely got out of there alive and then the subspace transmission happened."

"The one that broadcasted the location of earth from a parallel dimension," Fitzpatrick said knowingly and John looked back over at him. He knew more than he'd been letting on.

"That would be the one."

"What happened next?"

"Why don't you tell me, champ. You seem to know everything that went down," John countered, sick to death of being prodded about past events he had no desire to revisit, but Fitzpatrick shook his head.

"Believe it or not, it's important that I hear all of this from you. I'm the one you tell, John," Fitzpatrick pushed back with a warning look behind his puffing red eyes and Rodney's voice echoed back at John from yesterday.

".. _. You don't have to talk to me or Carson about it, or anyone else who knew you before the war for that matter, but do yourself a favor Sheppard, and find_ someone _to talk to before all of this turns into something you can't handle on your own anymore_."

He ran a shaky hand through his sweat and blood dampened hair and made himself keep going.

"The Super hive took off for earth as soon as it had the coordinates and we thought it was the only ship who had received the transmission. I got my orders to return home via the Stargate to coordinate an offensive strike there from the Control Chair at McMurdo in case the Super hive reached Earth, only we found out that Carson Beckett's Ancient Gene wasn't strong enough to control Atlantis enough to fly her back to the Milky Way safely. They pulled me back, sent Carson back in, and I flew the city." He could still remember the moment it happened; one of those elusive 'what if' moments he replayed in his head over and over again in the dead of night when sleep refused to come. John wrapped his arms around his abused ribs that were throbbing along in time with this heart, trying not to be bothered by how pathetic he must look caving in on himself like that, bloodied and sitting on the floor, but he pushed it away and made himself keep going.

"We caught up to the Super hive when it had to drop out of hyperspace on its way to Earth thanks to some kind of hypothetical drive McKay had been tinkering with and I managed to get a team on board. We were going to set a nuclear charge and blow that damn thing out of the sky, but it didn't happen that way." That space around his heart was starting to throb again and this time when the faces of his friends swam up into his mind he didn't fight against them or try to push them back down like he was doing with everything else at the moment. Teyla's face and her gentle smile swam into his thoughts, as did Ronon's cold unseeing eyes staring up at him from the floor where he lay dead and unmoving.

"What then?" Fitzpatrick prodded gently and John shook himself slightly to try and recede enough from the memories to continue.

"What happened then is that a group of Wraith got the drop on us and before I could stop it, Teyla and Ronon were dead." He said, staring at his swollen hands, knuckles red and angry even though he didn't remember ever having used his fists in the fight with Fitzpatrick.

"How?"

"They broke Teyla's neck and stabbed Ronon in the back," the words were threatening to choke him, but John knew down in his deepest recesses that if he didn't get this shit out in the open, it was going to eat him alive from the inside out until the day he died. And he couldn't consciously lead a group of soldiers and scientists back to Pegasus with a time bomb ticking away at the center of him.

"And I tried. I tried to go back for them to bring their bodies back through the gate, but the Wraith cut us off and Wolsey was in control of the remote detonator and was going to blow the bomb and wouldn't give me more time."

"I can't imagine what that must have been like," Fitzpatrick offered with a shake of his head, "having to leave members of your team behind like that. What happened after?"

But 'after' was something John hadn't allowed himself to speak of for nearly two decades. He faltered and Fitzpatrick sat up straighter.

"It's now or never, John. Tell me what happened when you got back to Earth."

He looked up at the former Navy Seal then and knew what needed to be done, but his flight or flight responses were warring in the center of him in that moment and he couldn't for the life of him decide what to do. He'd spent the past 18 years running from the memories Fitz was asking him to step right up to and confront and had beaten him down enough with his fists to actually have John thinking about doing it. But self-preservation was a funny thing and it kept his jaw clamped tightly shut. This kid knew nothing more than what he'd read in some file and here he was expecting John to just unload a lifetime's worth of sins as he sat broken and bloodied on the floor of the training room with no strength left to protest. And yet, after years and years of self-flagellation and self-imposed exile, the universe was offering him a moment to unburden himself. The question was, could John do it?

"Wolsey blew the hive as soon as I got McKay, Lorne and myself out of there and we set a course back to Pegasus," he started thickly, trying to control his breathing as he made himself talk. "But Rodney discovered something."

"What, John?" Fitzpatrick asked, but John barely heard him. "What did Dr. McKay find out?"

"We got word that the Wraith were attacking Earth."

"So the Super hive you destroyed wasn't the only ship that had received the subspace transmission." Fitz stated rather than asked and John shook his head.

"No, others had and all of them had set out for Earth, only we didn't know... they had no warning."

"So you headed that way too?" Fitz nudged him forward when John fell silent again.

"We did, but it took us too long."

"What happened then John?"

"Wolsey ordered me to open fire on every hive ship we came near once we got back to Earth."

"And did you?"

"I did. Between me and some kid they'd put in the control chair at Area 51, we destroyed them all."

"But that wasn't all of it, was it John," Fitzpatrick said from somewhere far off and John made his tunneled vision focus back in on the man sitting cross legged in front of him, bloodied by damage John's own fists had created, and demanding more from him than any other living soul had up to that point in his entire life.

"Tell me what happened, John. What did they do to you to make you crash Atlantis into the San Francisco Bay afterwards?" He swayed unsteadily and Fitzpatrick shot a hand out to grab him roughly around the forearm to keep him up. The words that came next physically severed him in half and it was all he could do to stay upright.

"The IOA and top brass..." John choked, white hot tears he refused to let release stinging the corners of his eyes, "...they didn't tell us, those bastards... All those ships..." but he couldn't go on, something lodged in the back of his throat and he could barely breathe around it.

"What about the ships, John?"

"I blew them all out of the sky and they didn't tell me." He forced out, looking up into the concerned face of Former Petty Officer First Class Sean Fitzpatrick who was crouched near him now, "They'd started culling, and those fucking cowards didn't tell me!"

"What John? What didn't they tell you?"

"There were _people_ in those Hives! 2 billion fucking people, and they let me kill them all!"

The release cracked something at John's center.

Blackness invaded his field of vision.

And as Fitzpatrick called out his name in concern, John slumped sideways to be carried off into a nothingness so absolute, he wasn't sure he would ever find his way back out again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Poem by Robert Burns. 
> 
> I had another chapter practically ready to go but my muse knocked me in the head this morning so I'm writing a whole new one to put before it. I'm at the point now where I've caught up to my raw rough drafts and I'll have to take more time between posts to get things ready.


	11. Carson Beckett Remembers

Carson Beckett shifted in the uncomfortable SGA infirmary chair and pulled a hand up to massage his aching neck. He'd been sitting at this particular bedside most of the night and the late hour and its effects on his not so young anymore body were starting to make themselves known.

The newly reenlisted Brigadier General John Sheppard, his oldest and dearest of friends, was sleeping peacefully enough in the bed before him, looking relaxed in the low, overhead light of the infirmary... but that was only a recent achievement. When Carson had gotten him back to the medical wing John had been delirious from dehydration and feverish from the events of the day and Carson eventually had to give the man a sedative so the dreams making him thrash about and call out to long dead friends would give him a few moments peace to get the sleep he so desperately needed. Carson had a feeling that John Sheppard had not been sleeping (or eating) much since he'd arrived on base and even though he'd been monitoring Sheppard's training session with Fitzpatrick the whole time from a hidden room just off the training facility to make sure everything went according to plan, he had not expected the experience to be so intense that the man would keel over suddenly and land himself in the infirmary. Carson closed his eyes on a heavy sigh and images of what he had seen danced in the black spaces behind his eyelids.

Former Petty Officer Sean Fitzpatrick had been brought in to prepare John for returning to Atlantis and while Carson would almost name what the former Seal had done 'brutal', he'd still managed to pull something out of General Sheppard that no one else would have been able to. Perhaps it was the fact that the former Navy Seal was a stranger, and not someone who'd lived through those awful moments after Atlantis had returned to Earth and began blowing the Wraith ships out of the sky, that had made it possible in the end. Whatever the reason for it, Carson was just happy that John Sheppard had let out some of the details about what had happened to him that day, and could now maybe begin that most arduous journey of healing.

_"…Wolsey ordered me to open fire on every hive ship we came near once we got back to Earth."_

_"And did you?"_

_"I did. Between me and some kid they'd put in the control chair at Area 51, we destroyed them all..."_

Carson shuddered as visions of watching Sheppard say those words from the ancient TV screen in the observation room that colored everything it showed in sickly green, came to mind.

When Carson had been sent back to Earth to man the Area 51 weapons platform, he'd done his best to protect the planet against the Hive ships and their Darts with the drones that had always scared the crap out of him ever since that day, so many years ago, when he'd nearly shot John Sheppard and Jack O'Neill's helicopter down. He had been in the thick of the Wraith surprise attack when General Landry had arrived from Washington unexpectedly and what had happened next would change his life irrevocably. God, he could still remember the look on that man's face when he'd barged into the Control Chair room, told Carson to stop because the Wraith had begun culling en masse in a giant wave that was decimating the 302 pilots and the world. But then the big wigs had shown up, and everything had turned into a bloody mess.

They had ordered Carson back into that chair with directions to shoot down every single Dart and Hive he could target, even though there were countless innocent people trapped aboard, but he had refused... and he would struggle with that decision every single day for the rest of his life. Maybe if he had just stayed in the chair, he could have changed the course of the future somehow, warned John maybe, instead of being hauled off by armed guards while an 18 year old kid that had been given the gene therapy _he_ had created (and who would follow orders blindly) replaced him in the chair. It was one of those elusive 'what if' moments that never gave him a moments peace and continually haunted the back of his mind like some dark specter. Carson shifted uncomfortably under the weight and anger of that past but didn't let his mind wander over to other, safer things like it wanted to. Instead he let what happened next play out in vivid detail – as pivotal moments of one's life so often seemed to do - as if the events had happened only yesterday, and not over 18 years ago.

He had been so outraged that the leaders of the Stargate program were about to sacrifice a quarter of the Earth's population that he knew he needed to try and do something. Atlantis was on her way to Earth to help in the fight and he had prayed that John Sheppard of all people would be able to talk some sense into the minds of the madmen apparently running the show. But he would learn a little later from Landry - who was able to smuggle him off base and onto a helicopter to fly to the SGC - that Atlantis had been cut off from all radio communication on the IOA's orders and that John was flying the city into a massacre, not realizing what he was about to do. Thankfully though, there were still people out there who were trying to prevent that from happening and, with some help from Samantha Carter, Carson had been able to gate onto Atlantis after the Hive holding the gate the Wraith were using to block them out had been destroyed. He had this one chance to warn John, to give those 2 billion people trapped aboard the hives a chance at rescue, but he had been too late. God forgive him, he hadn't made it in time and John Sheppard found out what it was he had just done a few minutes later and lost control of the city to crash her into the clear waters of the San Francisco Bay by the sheer force of that unimaginable betrayal. John was a hero, the consummate soldier, and with one unthinkable order to fire, given to him by Wolsey on the orders of top military leaders that John had put his faith in to do the right thing, (and Carson's own failure to reach Atlantis in time) and they had managed to decimate one of the best men Carson Beckett had ever known.

But John's betrayal wasn't the only atrocity to happen that day. General Hank Landry had given his life to smuggle Carson out of Area 51 and onto his private helicopter that flew him over to Cheyenne; shot in the back by advancing guards who were just following orders like so many had that god-forsaken day. And just like that, that ultimate sacrifice performed by a man who ranked right up there with Sheppard on Carson's list of legendary men, had been in vain. Carson hadn't gotten to Atlantis in time.

But there would be light at the end of the tunnel eventually.

Those responsible for what had happened had ultimately been brought to justice; due mostly in part, he knew, to Rodney's heroics by sealing himself off in a lab and threatening to release all the details of what had gone down directly to the public (along with the names of every individual involved in making the decision to sacrifice half the population rather than try to find an alternative to get their people back) unless someone did something. The gamble had paid off, though Rodney had risked his life, Cameron Mitchell and Sam Carter had lost theirs, and Carson could only imagine how that made the slumbering man in front of him feel.

John had spent the last 18 years of his life in a kind of self-imposed exile for what he felt he was responsible for, believing all the while that he was being hunted by men who were no longer relevant, and had just recently learned - as Rodney had admitted to telling him rather crudely - that people had died trying to accomplish what he couldn't in his exile. But no matter how much John Sheppard might beat himself up over dropping off the grid, neither Carson, nor any other person on that base, thought the less of him for doing it.

Of all the people involved in what had happened that day, it was John Sheppard who had been dealt the deadliest of blows. There was nothing John wouldn't do, no lengths he wouldn't go, to protect the people of Earth and in one ultimate act of betrayal, all of that had all been ripped away from him. He'd been tricked into the unimaginable and the IOA and the other members of the military involved knew John wasn't just going to just sit idly by and keep quiet about what it was he had been made to do. He'd made that point very clear in the moments after the crash when he informed Wolsey that he would be out for blood, and those involved had done the only thing they could think of at the time to shut him up for good: send someone in to kill him before he could reveal to the remaining people of Earth just what exactly had happened that day amongst the stars. Add attempted murder at the hands of those he'd trusted most with the devastation the man must have felt for having been a part of the deaths of so many people, and Carson Becket could understand why John had run and left this life in the dust. No one would ever fault him for that, though Carson was certain John still did.

Oh how he wished they would have had some idea of where John had gone in the weeks and months that followed so they could have brought him back to be involved in the plans to indict every last member of the IOA and the American Military that had been involved. Some of those bastards had been hoping that the chaos after The Great Culling would be enough to cement them in power further and hide what they had done, but Rodney McKay had quashed that dream pretty quickly and had made sure that each and every last one of those cowards were made to pay. And he was just sorry Sheppard hadn't been around to see it all go down and was instead left alone to deal with secrets so heavy Carson was amazed the man hadn't cracked under the weight of them sooner.

Yet as terrible as what John Sheppard had been tricked into doing, there was another side to things; a trait, Carson mused, attributable to most evil deeds.

At the height of fighting, the Wraith were winning and decimating everything in their path. And while nearly 2 billion people had been killed aboard those Hives, in the end, hadn't that been better than the alternative? Spending the rest of their lives at the mercy of the Wraith to be fed on for an eternity if no other alternative could be found to save those that had been culled? So, what it came down to was that, while former Colonel John Sheppard had unwittingly followed an order that ended billions of lives, he was still a hero for having saved the remaining population and helping to absolutely decimate the Wraith fleet. They wouldn't be coming back to inflict more harm, and that was victory in its most bittersweet form and Carson Beckett hated the universe a little for it. The cost of it all was just too bloody high.

Carson glanced again at his friend and eyed the bruises blossoming up on John's face with a wary look and had half a mind to get up and check on the stitches he'd done himself in the cut on the side of John's face, but worried the movement might pull the poor lad from sleep. That was the last thing he needed. Fitzpatrick had really done a number on him, but John had given just as well as he'd received. Carson had nearly stepped in when the fight got vicious, but Fitzpatrick had a method and though Carson didn't entirely agree with it, even the base psychologist had signed off on everything and he had given his word not to intervene and let the formal Navy Seal do what he did best.

Sean Fitzpatrick was still fairly young, but he was smart and it had been his idea to push John to his breaking point to see if they could get him to acknowledge and begin to deal with what had been done to him. They had all witnessed firsthand what the past was doing to him (Carson had actually feared for his safety for a moment there at the Reenlisting Ceremony) and there had been no doubt in his mind after that narrowly avoided disaster that something needed to be done. He'd reluctantly agreed to allow Fitzpatrick to go ahead with his plan after that, though he'd refused to let Rodney be a part of it, even though the scientist had tried to talk him into it. What Fitzpatrick had proposed was going to tear John apart, and it had worked, and what had transpired in that room was for John and John alone, and no one else's business. Carson would let the sleeping Brigadier General before him decide who got to know the details about what had happened, and who didn't.

The fight had taken a lot out of John (and not just emotionally) and Carson was currently pumping him full of IV fluids to combat his severe dehydration. He was going to have a few choice words with the unconscious general when he finally woke up and most of them were going to be about proper nutrition and the merits of a good night's sleep. John wasn't taking care of himself and they weren't going to get anywhere with all of this if he kept that up.

Carrying all the damage inflicted years ago right on his own shoulders was enough, but now the scars of the showdown with that heavy burden were going to be carried on his face as well. Every scrape and bruise both visible on his exposed skin, and those Carson knew where hidden beneath the infirmary blanket, were a testament to just how much John Sheppard had taken upon himself in the end and Carson's heart broke a little for him. He'd watched the whole exchange between Sheppard and Fitzpatrick from his little observation room, had a little more insight into what exactly was going on with John internally, and he only hoped that what had transpired would help the former Colonel in the long run, and not injure him further.

Only Carson wasn't really too worried about that. He knew the kind of man John Sheppard was inside. He knew that John would fight hard to get back to where he needed to be, if only to ensure the safety of the members of the expedition he was about to lead back to Pegasus. That was just who he was. Landry Jr. had approached Carson about John's state after that disastrous altercation in the hallway with Wolsey, but Carson had no qualms about dismissing the general's fears outright. Fitzpatrick was good at what he did, and so was Carson (when he let himself admit it), and they were going to get John Sheppard through this if it killed them. Even Rodney would do his part... though that scene in the corridor with Wolsey _had_ been pretty intense, and not just because of John's reaction to seeing the man again after 18 years.

In those chaotic hours after John had crashed landed Atlantis into the San Francisco Bay and before the explosion that had nearly ended his life, the former Colonel had made a promise to Richard Wolsey in a scene so eerily familiar to the one that had transpired in the corridor only yesterday that Carson could hardly tell the two apart. He'd had to hold John back that day as well to keep him from attacking the man who they had all been growing to trust and respect, who'd caved under the strong-arm of the IOA and top military officials, had cut John off from radio communication so he didn't know what was happening, and had given him the order that had ended the world as they all had known it. If Wolsey had just waited, given them some time to try and come up with a better solution than murdering over 2 billion people, then maybe Carson wouldn't be here watching over the sleeping figure of John Sheppard having just watched the man fall apart completely under the weight of a burden so heavy no one man should ever have been made to carry it... But John had. He had been carrying it for nearly two bloody decades, and it had landed him in the infirmary and under Carson's care. And speaking of Carson's care, John's IV bag was nearly depleted and he pulled his tired body up from the chair he had been occupying for several hours to change the empty saline bag out for a fresh one, careful not to wake the sleeping general.

It was amazing how very different their lives had ended up becoming, his and John's, considering how intertwined they had been while involved with the Atlantis expedition. John had been forced into exile to live a life Carson knew nothing about, while he had been made to involuntarily return to Scotland after he'd made it quite clear to the new people running the United States government that he would not be continuing his ATA gene research after what had happened at Area 51. He would have gladly stayed on at the SGC after they had cleaned house, but ever since he'd been cloned and his predecessor killed, people had treated him differently, like he was substandard somehow and, even though Rodney had fought for him to be allowed to stay, in the end he was eventually sacked. He didn't regret retreating to Scotland for a moment though. There was no way in hell he was going to allow his research to be abused so completely like that ever again and he had been able to do some real good at home in those chaotic years after the Great Culling as the human race scrambled to pull itself back together, just as a doctor. He'd thrown himself into his work at a local hospital, helping in any way he could as the pandemonium erupted then eventually subsided and he tried to put the past behind him. It had never really quite worked though and he spent some dark years lost in the lonely hallways of the hospital he'd practiced at, cut off from the life he had loved and the friends he had held most dear.

Carson allowed his eyes wander over one of those friends yet again before he finally settled them on the high tech monitor bolted to the wall above John's bed to let his mind focus for a while on stats and percentages, blood pressure levels and oxygen saturations until movement caught his attention. For the briefest of moments Carson feared that John was once again caught in the throes of some unrelenting nightmare, but as he leaned forward over the prone figure on the bed, he watched as hazel eyes cracked open lazily and John Sheppard blinked around the room for a moment or two as if confused.

"Carson?" He croaked (voice still not 100% after the day's abuse) when he finally comprehended who it was that was standing over him at his bedside, watching him closely.

"Dinnea worry yerself lad," Carson calmed when John started to shift then let out a groan. "You're okay, just in the infirmary. Do ya need sumthin' for the pain?"

John shook his head then lifted his IV'd hand up to his face slowly before letting it drop back down to the blanket beside his legs. He looked over at Carson, perplexed.

"What happened?"

"You passed out on us, laddie. Nearly scare't the pants off young Fitzpatrick doin' it, too." Carson explained then watched John's brow furrow then smooth like it was all suddenly returning to him. He lost a little of his color and Carson moved forward, ready to act if things took a turn for the worse.

And they did take a turn for the worse, but not in the way he'd been expecting and John offered a soft "You knew, didn't you?" before turning anguish filled eyes in Carson's direction that nearly leveled him with what he saw behind them. He froze under that gaze, unable to do little more than nod, and John let out a strangled and shuddering sigh that nearly broke Carson's heart.

"Fitzpatrick... You planned it all." It was a realization, not a question and Carson nodded again. He had expected anger on John's part for being manipulated into facing his past the way he had been, and maybe that would come later, but for now he lay exhausted and exposed in an infirmary bed looking as lost and as broken as Carson Beckett had ever seen him. The 'first do no harm' part of his Hippocratic Oath pushed up into the forefront of his mind, but Carson was certain, now more than ever, that breaking John Sheppard down and making him face what had happened, had been the right thing to do.

"We did," he admitted solemnly.

"Rodney?"

"He wasnea there. I wanted to respect your privacy."

"Anyone else see?"

"Of course not, John. What happened in that training room is between you, Fitzpatrick, and me - but as your doctor only," he promised. "It's totally up to you if we tell anyone else."

"I let all those people die," John said next, pulling those mournful eyes away from Carson to stare at some indiscriminate spot across the room. He knew the heavy drugs he'd given John so he could get some rest were partly to blame for what was going on between them, but he knew these first few moments were critical and continued on cautiously.

"You forget that I was there, too John," he stated sadly and Sheppard's eyes snapped back over in his direction. "Or that it was my gene therapy that made it possible for the IOA to put that _child_ in the chair when I refused to attack those Hives." John was watching him closely, something indescribable filling Sheppard's eyes now, and Carson forced himself to keep going even though the words were catching at the back of his throat and trying to choke him as his own eyes began to mist over.

"I should've done something more to make them stop and I was the one who wasn't able to get to Atlantis in time to warn you about what they were going to have you do. So if anyone should take the blame for all those poor souls who died, John Sheppard, 'tis me."

"But at least you _stayed_ , Carson," John responded as he shifted slightly in the bed again. "I just ran away like some coward."

"Bloody hell, John!" Carson cried. "They were going ta kill you, lad!" He could still remember that Sergeant who had ordered him off the medevac helicopter after the explosion, and the desperate look on John's face the exact moment he'd realized that his life was in danger over what he knew and the threats he had made to Wolsey and the IOA. Carson had locked eyes with John through the helicopter door when it happened and it had taken 2 impressively large MPs to hold Carson back bodily as he'd fought to be allowed to go with and protect his friend. But in the end that cold, unfeeling face of the Sergeant sent to silence John had filled the doorway and snapped it shut as John was air-lifted up and away from Carson's reaching grasp. That was to be the last time he saw John, and the memory of their parting would haunt him for years, right up until the moment Rodney had burst into his tiny flat in Edinburgh to tell him that John had been found in some small backwater town in Wisconsin.

"But Rodney said..."

"I'm well aware of what Rodney said to you about runnin' away that day back at your cabin, John. And I know for a fact he didn't mean it and that it's been eatin' him alive ever since.

You are not some bloody coward. You're a good man who had a horrible thing happen to him and if you had'nea left when you did, you'd be dead son. End of story." Carson squared his shoulders and prepared for more pushback from John, but the counter arguments didn't come and he wondered if perhaps, finally, he was managing to get through to the man.

"Well it doesn't matter now, does it," John muttered unexpectedly and glanced away again looking more exhausted than before, if that was even possible.

Carson narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

John kept his eyes averted. "I completely lost it in the hallway with Wolsey and then again with Fitzpatrick in the training room. How could Landry let me stay on and lead the expedition after all that?"

Carson shook his head, but it wasn't to confirm John's suspicions. It was to convey his utter shock and bewilderment at what he was hearing coming out of his friend's mouth. Carson leaned forward to make sure his next words were understood completely by the man in the bed before him. John reluctantly looked back over at him.

"Now you listen to me, John Sheppard. There is'nea one living soul on this Earth who would ever expect you to live through what you did and not be changed by it. And quite frankly laddie, I'd be more concerned for you if you _hadn't_ been affected by it.

You put your trust in men who _betrayed_ you John, and it wasnea like they just stole some girl you were sweet on out from under you. It was _reprehensible_ what they did, and no one comes out of something like that unscathed. Jesus, you have no idea how worried I was that the next time I was going to get news of you it was going to be because you'd put a bullet in your brain!

But you didn't. You didn't because you survived it all and I know that somewhere deep down in those twisted insides of yours you accept that it wasnea your fault, but that, like the rest of us, it kills you that you couldnae do anything to stop it!

So no, John, no one is going to take Atlantis away from you because you're _human_. All we're gonnea ask of you is that you make peace with it and trust us when we tell you that no one blames you, so tha' you can be the leader this expedition needs and fly our city back home." Carson watched something pass over the features of the man before him and prayed that it was the courage and determination he'd hoped his little impromptu speech would ignite within the brigadier general. He held his breath and waited for John to respond.

"Well, you don't ask for much, do you?" John said finally, one corner of his mouth curling upwards into an ever so slight half smile, and Carson could have cheered. It wasn't perfect and it wasn't a sign all was well, but he figured that smile (and the fact that some of the pain and anguish had left John's eyes) was a step in the right direction.

"Nothing more than I know you can handle, " he offered back and smiled himself.

John let out another sigh but this one bore no resemblance to its emotional predecessor and Carson could have sworn some of the tension in the room broke apart in that instant. "So how long are you going to keep me here?"

"Weel, seeing as how you havenea been takin' very good care of yourself, I want you to stay overnight at least."

"Oh come on Carson!" He complained a little impetuously but Carson put his hands up to stop him.

"I'm sorry, John, but those are tha' Doctor's orders."

 

**SGASGASGASGASGASGASGASGASGA**

Carson took it as a good sign that John slipped back into a seemingly dreamless sleep a little while later despite his protestations that, besides some aches and pains from the fight he'd had with Fitzpatrick, he was perfectly fine and should be allowed to leave. The man needed rest and time to heal, and not just from his physical ailments. Physically, there wasn't much wrong with him and once the IV bag he'd replaced a little while ago was done, Carson would let him leave and head back to his bunk, but emotionally... he could only hope that the little signs he'd seen were truly an indication that John Sheppard was on the mend.

Carson had taken back up his seat near the foot of John's bed to continue his vigil and he was joined after a while by Rodney who put a careful chair down on the floor beside Carson's and plopped down into it to take up the watch as well.

He'd been wondering when Rodney was going to make an appearance again. The scientist had been there when they'd first brought John in but had disappeared shortly after and right before Carson had finally sedated John to help him get some rest. It had been a hard thing to see, the state he was in when they had gotten him here, and Carson couldn't fault Rodney for needing to leave - though he was secretly relieved the man had returned. The SGC medical team didn't know this friend of theirs the way Rodney and Carson did and he was happy to have someone else around who knew what needed to be done for John.

"Has he woken up yet?" Rodney asked quietly so as not to disturb Sheppard and Carson nodded.

"Aye, about an hour or so ago."

"Did he say anything?" Rodney was looking John over, most likely cataloging the cuts and bruises visible on John's face just as Carson had done.

"We talked a bit, yeah." Rodney's roaming eyes snapped over to him.

"What happened?" It was a loaded question and Carson sighed, trying to decide what he should share with the scientist sitting beside him.

When they had met Major Scott Bradshaw in New York City to be debriefed on his efforts at getting John to return to the SGC and he had explained to them what had happened, it had been decided pretty quickly after that that Rodney should be the one to go in and try again - though Carson was surprised the man hadn't been thrown out of the SGC for the dressing down he gave Bradshaw and Landry for sending the Major in without contacting him. Rodney had been absolutely furious, but Landry had taken it in stride, realizing the mistake he had made in trying to appeal to John's sense of duty rather than handling the situation carefully like it should have been. John wasn't some simple solider that needed to be wined and dined with talk of serving his country. He was a hero who had given every last bit of himself to a country that had betrayed him, and if Rodney and Carson would have been notified the moment John was found, they probably could have avoided a lot of unnecessary stress on the former Colonel's part.

Carson had a sneaky suspicion that Wolsey had a lot to do with the stupid decision to send Bradshaw in first without notifying anyone of it first. He oversaw the department Bradshaw worked in after all, though he didn't deserve the position in the least, in Carson's opinion. The ruddy bastard had probably hoped Major Bradshaw would bring John back so he could get a chance to speak to him before Rodney could intervene, though Carson couldn't for the life of him understand why, considering the last time the two had seen each other John was threatening to kill the man as Rodney and Carson struggled to hold him back.

So Rodney McKay had been sent in next to try and help repair the damage done to John in the unfair ambush and had been keeping Carson in the loop on his progress ever since they'd gotten back. The astrophysicist was as much a part of this as any of them and, while loyalty to John would keep Carson from divulging exactly what had been said in the training facility earlier that day, he wouldn't keep Rodney in the dark about John's current condition.

"The whole thing was pretty hard on 'em. He collapsed after Fitzpatrick got him to open up and we're treatin' him for dehydration now. He's none the worse for wear, so dinnea worry yourself. Though I suspect he's gonnea be hurtin' for the next few days or so."

"He looks terrible," Rodney observed quietly, casting his eyes to the figure on the bed once more and Carson nearly snorted.

"You dinnea ken the half of it, laddie."

"Was that really necessary? Fitzpatrick beating him up like that? I mean, _good grief_ ," Rodney exclaimed, waiving a hand in the direction of the man still managing to slumber peacefully before them, "look at him, Carson!"

"Believe it or not, Rodney, but Fitzpatrick gave him most of tha' just by trying to defend himself in the end. I'm not gonnea tell you exactly what went down in that room, that's John's story to tell, but it wasnea a 'beat up John Sheppard' free for all. Fitz' approach worked, though John's gonnea need all our help facin' what happened. You'll need to be gentle."

"I'm always gentle!" Rodney replied as he stiffened, seemingly affronted at Carson's suggestion that he wasn't.

"Rodney McKay, you are about as gentle as the wood chipper my Da used to have on our farm growin' up!"

"Well I can't help it if no one understands how I work." A classic Rodney move from right out of the past.

Always someone else's problem and Carson shook his head with a laugh.

"Seriously though Rodney, he's gonnea need our help," Carson continued, sobering a bit again, and Rodney sent a glare his way but let the matter of the affront to his bedside manner lie.

The scientist looked back over at John and heaved a sigh. "He sure doesn't make it easy."

"And never did before, either, did he?" Carson mused. "He's always been such a private man, I worry he'll not let us in."

"Well then we'll just send him back to Fitzpatrick, right? Maybe they can box it out next," Rodney suggested with a smirk and Carson chuckled, shifting a bit in his chair to restore feeling to his tingling legs. He'd been sitting there too long.

"It's so weird to see him like this," Rodney continued. "On Atlantis it always seemed like nothing could touch him, you know? He got into his fair share of scrapes and was in your infirmary enough, but he always seemed to be able to let the emotional crap just roll right off of his shoulders. There were a few times over the years when he actually let it show that something was effecting him, but those were pretty few and far between, and now I look at him and worry that the next corner we round is going to send him into one of those panic attacks."

"I hear ya Rodney, but rest assured, I believe his sessions with Fitzpatrick will help him with that."

"Do you think it could be some kind of PTSD?" Rodney asked and Carson nearly smiled. Every once in a while Rodney McKay managed to remind him just how smart he really was.

"Well spotted, Rodney," he praised and Rodney just shrugged.

"It wasn't that hard to figure out."

"Weel, my guess is late onset post traumatic stress and most likely triggered by somethin' that happened a while ago, judging by how much it's effectin' him now." John was reliving the past over and over again in his dreams and now even when he was awake, and Carson wondered if his friend had self diagnosed himself yet, though he could understand if he hadn't. John was just trying to get through each day as best he could and the last thing he would want to do was sit down and try to analyze what was happening to him and then go seek out help to get it to stop. He was too introverted for that and would much rather attempt to handle it all internally, which was probably why it had progressed to the point it had. It was just who John Sheppard was, though Carson wished at times he could walk right up to the man and shake that stubbornness and refusal to ask for help right out of him.

Carson could only imagine what it must be like for John to see the past every time he closed his eyes, considering the horrors it held for him. From what had happened with the Hive ships to seeing Teyla's neck snapped right in front of him and Ronan stabbed in the back, it was a small wonder John Sheppard hadn't gone completely mad. But he hadn't because he was the strongest, most loyal, most selfless man Carson Beckett had ever met, and he didn't deserve one bit of the agony he'd been forced to endure for nearly two decades. Bloody hell, it was enough to make Carson want to shake his fists at the sky and bellow at the _unfairness_ of it all...

"Carson?" His thoughts had taken him far away to angry places, and a tentative hand on his forearm brought him back to the present.

"Hmmm?"

"I was just asking if there is anything I can do in the meantime before you zoned out on me," Rodney said, giving him a worried little glance, but he ignored it.

"Sorry Rodney," he apologized quickly. "I would suggest to just keep doin' what you're doin'. Try to get him to open up about it as much as you can, I know that's what Fitzpatrick'll be doing for the next few weeks," he finished, rubbing at his tired eyes and cursing himself for not wearing his glasses for most of the afternoon. He could feel a headache starting to brew just behind his eyeballs from the long day of squinting at things and he prayed it wouldn't be a bad one. He had enough on his plate to deal with right now.

"You look like hell, Carson. Why don't you go get some sleep? I can stay with him for the rest of the night," Rodney suggested when Carson missed the next thing he said to him and he checked his watch with a weary yawn. It had been a very long day and he felt a bit on the inside like what John Sheppard looked like on the outside: that someone had used him as a punching bag for the day, and he decided to take Rodney's advice.

Carson left instructions with the night duty nurse to call him if anything changed and specific orders that John Sheppard was not to be released, under any circumstances, until he got a good night's rest and Carson had a chance to look over him in the morning, before saying goodbye to Rodney. He left the peaceful quiet of the infirmary, softly underscored by the steady beat of its lone inhabitant's heart monitor, and made his way back to the little bunk the SGC had given him that reminded him a little of the tiny flat in Edinburgh he'd left so many months ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like it so far? Have a constructive suggestion or a thought? Why not let me know in a review!?


	12. Hell Yeah, I'm Up for It!

If John Sheppard had thought for a moment that he would be allowed to remain in the downy haze of medically induced bliss, he would have tried to stay there for just a little bit longer. While the places he visited in his dreams were dark, they no longer held the terror for him that they once had, and he yearned to stay not because he couldn't face what consciousness brought, but because here, in his dreams, for the first time in years, he could almost rest peacefully.

It hadn't begun that way.

He could recall the fevered nightmares triggered by a long buried past pulled from the deepest depths of him by a kid with a couple of sticks. A long buried past that had done its best to try and stay; fighting with every weapon it had in its arsenal - tooth, claw, and talon - to tear him apart and drag him down into hell. And all because he'd opened up and let every bit of it spill from his lips in that training room with Fitzpatrick and then again with Carson when he'd first regained consciousness.

But he had fought.

John had fought because Rodney McKay and Carson Becket and countless others were counting on him to fly Atlantis back home and give her a purpose again. And maybe, just maybe, because it was time to stop running.

And when it had all been over - and even though he was stumbling along in the darkness of his most absolute rock bottom - he knew he hadn't traveled that far just to disappear into the nothingness. No, he'd gone there to re-gather his strength, pull himself back together from the inside, and John peeled back his leaden eyelids unfathomable minutes later to the unfamiliarity of the SGC infirmary.

His surroundings were disorienting at first, this particular place not one he'd often visited in his short excursions to Earth during his Atlantian years, and he almost let the familiar coldness of fear draw him up and out of the bed in panic. But then his eyes came to rest on the slumped and sleeping form of Rodney McKay and he eased himself back down against his pillows on a pain steeped breath of air.

John's body ached. Each movement was a new lesson in torture and he was separated from the hard won peace of his dreams by the popping white heat of injury that jumped from one limb to the next like the dry sparks of a fire. The light in the infirmary was low, he had enough to see by, but John had no idea how much time had passed since he'd collapsed in the training room. His memories of the past however many hours were nothing but a grainy jumbled mess of images and sensations that made no sense in his head with visions of his earlier conversation with Carson his only hints of his last lucid moments. He could recall bits and pieces of what had been said but he'd been drawn back under the heavy blanket of oppressive sedatives and his tired mind grappled for purchase on the memories that danced about the surface of his remembrance like Fitzgerald had danced around the ring.

_"...You're scared shitless, and what makes it even worse, is that you don't even know how to make it all stop, do you?..."_

But he had made it stop, at least for a few blissful hours in the nothingness he'd gotten lost in for a time. There was something fundamentally different inside of him, he could tell that just by poking around and exploring the still tender bits at his center where something had expanded suddenly then broken apart. He drew in a tentative breath, letting out a little laugh on the exhalation when his lungs were able to expand without resistance, and the noise startled McKay from sleep.

"You're awake," he said somberly, rubbing sleep from his eyes then looking John over as if inspecting for breaks.

He offered a weak half smile. "How long have I been here?"

"About a day," Rodney shrugged with a shoulder. "You were pretty out of it when they first brought you in. Carson had to sedate you after you started to... well, you know." Rodney didn't go on and John palmed the strained muscles at the back of his neck with an un-IV'd hand and screwed his face up into a grimace. He could only imagine the state he must have been in for Carson Beckett to have to sedate him.

"Did I... say anything?" He started hesitantly and Rodney shook his head.

"Not that I heard about. How are you feeling, by the way?"

"Okay I guess."

"Well you look like hell," Rodney snorted, observing the mess John was, in that unforgiving way only a scientist could.

"I took your advice, McKay."

The scientist's brow creased. "What advice?"

"What you said to me in the hallway the other day..."

"I said a lot of things John."

"Outside the Gateroom after the Reenlisting Ceremony. You told me I needed to find someone to talk to about what happened. Well, Fitzpatrick asked me about Teyla and Ronan and then about that day we got back to Earth and..." Jesus, he'd really done that, hadn't he.

"...and I told him everything."

"Really..." but the way Rodney said it was as if he'd already guessed... or had witnessed it himself and John wondered for a moment if Carson had lied when he said only John, Fitzpatrick and the good doctor had seen what went down in the training rooms so many hours ago.

"You we're right, Rodney."

"I was?" Rodney looked bewildered. Maybe he didn't remember their talk in the hallway after the Reenlisting Ceremony the way John did.

"I'm... I'm not alright, buddy." It might just have been whatever drugs they'd put him on talking, but saying those three words was almost liberating. Rodney's eyes went wide and John's face burned a little in embarrassment.

"Hold on a second," Rodney stopped him, putting up his hands. "Did I just hear right? Did the unflappable John Sheppard just admit that he needs _help_?"

"Come on Rodney, don't be an ass. I'm tryin' to be serious here."

"Oh I can see that."

John scowled over at him but kept going. "All that shit from the past, it's driving me crazy and Fitzpatrick just kinda beat it out of me."

"And landed you in the infirmary," Rodney snapped with an accusatory tone and a glance to John's bandaged face.

John smirked. "I managed to get a few good punches in."

"I'll say. You gave the guy two black eyes."

"Told ya," John smiled but Rodney went introspective for a moment, casting his eyes down at the hands he had clasped in his lap to study them.

"Are you going to be alright, John?" He asked after a pregnant pause but without looking up and John halted to think about it for a moment, let the events of the past few days settle over him as he weighted the pros and cons of their repercussions.

This was the moment fate had been pushing him towards for eighteen years. The one moment where he got to decide if he would let all the pain and grief and anger simmer inside of him for eternity, or if he would be what Carson had suggested, a survivor.

"I think so," he answered back honestly and Rodney McKay finally looked up.

**SGASGASGASGASGASGASGASGA**

John was allowed to leave the infirmary a little later that morning under strict orders from Carson Beckett that he take it easy for the next few days and he found himself on his way back to his bunk for some much needed shuteye an hour or so later. While the infirmary wasn't the worst place in the world to spend a morning, it was still too full of perpetual motion to get any real rest. Nurses took his vitals every few hours despite his protestations that he was perfectly fine now except for a few bruises; new emergencies cropped up that sent the medical staff into a frenzy of activity, and by the time he had been released, he was ready for some damn peace and quiet.

John's bunk was just as he had left it a few days earlier and he fished his duffle from up off the floor and laid it out on top of the comforter once he'd closed and locked the door to his quarters behind him, determined to finally get a moment to himself. When the bag's contents shifted and the unmistakable sound of rattling glass came up from it, John made himself unzip the duffle and start unpacking its contents.

There wasn't much in it. Just a few changes of clothes mostly; some civvies he wouldn't even wear again thanks to the United States Strategic Force BDUs he'd been given and he put those items in the bottom most drawer of the little bureau he'd been provided. There were some personal papers and duplicates of forms he'd filled out once he'd reached Cheyenne Mountain in there as well and those he tucked away in the small desk along one far wall of his room. The picture frames came out last and these he inspected one by one as much to check for breaks as to revisit the memories each one represented in turn.

The first was a group picture filled with the smiling faces of himself, Ronon, and Teyla and then finally a much younger looking Rodney McKay with all of his hair and none of the wrinkles, ending the lineup. John could remember the day it was taken perfectly. It had been Ronon's first official off-world mission with the team and they had all arrived back safely after a successful trading expedition with a nearby colony. John had one hip resting on the edge of a wooden crate in front of the deactivated Stargate with Ronon at his side resting an elbow on his shoulder with a genuine smile broken out across his face as he looked straight into the camera. Teyla was next in line, captured under the Sateden's other arm mid-laugh as he pulled her in with Rodney filling the last space and looking over at them all with an amused look on his face like he didn't quite get what all the fuss was about. It was a good memory and John set it on the corner of his nightstand where he knew it would catch his eye every morning.

The next photo was a more formal one and was of him and Elizabeth Weir shaking hands as he accepted his promotion to Lieutenant Colonel, a promotion he knew he owed all to her. She'd made a special trip to the SGC that day just to be there for him when no one else had been able to get away and it was a day he wished he would have stopped for a moment to tell her just how much it had meant to him that she had come. He hadn't though, and he set that memory and its regrets on the bureau, Elizabeth's sparking smile still beaming up at him even as he walked away.

There were two other pictures left and he noticed with a flare of irritation that the next one he pulled from the bag had a slight crack in one corner of the glass. It was a fadded picture of his mother and father on their wedding day and it was a photo that his brother David would probably be pissed to know that he had taken. John had learned that David had survived The Great Culling and lived somewhere out in New York working some government job and John wondered if he would ever see his brother again. Most likely not. They had never been what anyone would call 'close' and David probably thought John was long dead and he figured perhaps that was the best way to leave things.

The final photo was one he'd taken himself and was a candid shot of McKay, Ronon, Teyla and Carson all gathered around a green felt lined table playing poker with mini Oreo cookies as currency. What made the photo memorable was the fact that Rodney had talked them all into smoking cigars and wearing red and green casino visors and they all looked completely ridiculous. Rodney had a royal flush laid out on the table in front of him and the camera had caught the smug smirk plastered on his face perfectly as he began to reach for his winnings. Carson was sitting beside him and had thrown himself back in his chair with cigar trapped between his teeth and was looking over at Rodney with bewildered amusement and Ronon's mouth was open in frozen bellow with hands up in the air and blurry cards flying out at all angles. Teyla was the only one with her back to the camera and John could never quite recall what her reaction to McKay's big win had been. If he ever got to see her again someday in whatever afterlife there might be for him, he was going to have to remember to ask her. This last photo he set reverently on his desk beside the green table lamp then balled the empty duffel bag up and threw it in the back of his small closet before standing in the middle of the room to survey his work. He was as put away as he would ever be and for the first time since he'd arrived back at the SGC, John felt like he was right where he was supposed to be.

It was an odd feeling and one he hadn't felt in a very long time and it was like reliving all of that crap from the past with Fitzgerald in the training room had cleaned out some space in the center of him again and it was easier to _breathe_. He didn't feel quite so heavy anymore either and knew he owed at least a little of that to Carson and Rodney. Carson for calling him out on the fact that he blamed himself for things that were beyond his control and Rodney for unapologetically bringing him back here to face his past. John almost felt at ease for the first time in a long time and he was milling that new feeling over when the ancient corded phone sitting beside his table lamp on the desk came to life in a cacophony of bells. John lifted the receiver, amused that the SGC still had such archaic equipment, and put the phone to his ear.

"Sheppard, " he growled

"John, its Rodney, I hope I'm not bothering you." John bit his tongue. Well, at least he'd gotten a few minutes to himself.

"No, Rodney. I just got back to my bunk. What's up?" The man on the other line was silent for a moment, a quiet rustling of fabric the only sound that came through for a second or two. John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose like the maneuver might stave off the migraine he could feel brewing in the nerved behind his eyes.

" _Rodney_!"

"Just hold on a sec!" McKay snapped back and then put a hand over the mouthpiece. His next words came through the phone muffled. "Honestly, it's like working with a bunch of howler monkeys! Just put it down and I'll be over there in a minute." Rodney's hand must have come away from the receiver then because John heard his next "I don't know where they get these idiots from," loud and clear.

"Having trouble, McKay?" John laughed, not even bothering to hide the amusement in his voice and Rodney snorted in his ear.

"If they keep sending me morons who don't know the difference between black holes and wormholes,

we're never going to get Atlantis back off the ground."

"Is there something you needed , Rodney?" John interrupted, trying to get the scientist's attention to focus back in on their conversation again.

"What?"

"You _called_ me, McKay. Remember?" God he was tired.

"Oh, right. I talked to Carson today." Rodney said shortly and then didn't go on.

John sighed and ran a hand down the side of his face. "So did I. And?" But his only answer was a loud clattering noise as the phone on the other end of the line was dropped against something hard.

"No! That doesn't go there either!" John pulled the headset way from his ear, but Rodney's dulcet tones could still could be heard. " _My English teacher brother in law had a better handle on subspace particles than you! Put it down_!

John?"

He put the phone back to his ear. "Still here, Rodney."

"Sorry, it's like World War Three around here right now. Anyway, I called you to tell you that Carson wants you to take it easy for the next few days."

"I know all this already, McKay! What's your point." This was getting ridiculous.

"Since you're not supposed to train for the next day or so, I thought we might go take a visit to Atlantis. Landry okay'd it if you think you'd be up for it," but John was already nodding his head in agreement even though Rodney wouldn't be able to tell.

"Hell yeah, I'm up for it!" He practically yelled as Rodney started berating his assistants again. Atlantis had been on his mind in a big way ever since he'd woken up in the infirmary and a trip to the city felt like exactly what he needed; the next step to try and put all of this behind him so he could do like Carson demanded and be the leader the city needed. He needed to walk down those familiar halls, stand beneath that familiar Stargate, because for the first time in a long time, he wasn't completely terrified of the memories he knew were hidden there.

"Perfect!" Rodney finally went on. "Carson and I will meet you on the helipad tomorrow morning at 7, okay?"

"Seven it is," but his words were lost in the chaos that once again broke out at the other end of the line.

"Oh shit! I gotta go, Sheppard. The _children_ are trying to blow up my lab," and the line disconnected as Rodney started shouting.

John stared at the receiver for a moment until the dial tone began to squawk out at him then started to settle the ancient receiver back in its cradle, when a sudden idea came to him from out of the blue. He captured the phone back between shoulder and ear, hit a button that would connect him to the SGA's switchboard operator, and a few seconds later an irritated female voice came over the line.

"Switchboard, can I help you?" She snapped and John tried not to snap back. He gave her all the details she would need to find the listing he was looking for but before he could tell her all he needed was the number, the line was ringing in his ear and John nearly hung up the phone right then and there. He didn't let himself though and several tense moments later a familiar voice came over the line, the sounds of a busy restaurant clattering along behind her.

"Tamed Tiger, this is Carrie. How can I help you?"

"Car?" He said just a little hesitantly and the voice on the other end of the line went silent for a few moments.

When she spoke again it was thickly; he could just imagine the tears in her eyes and he cursed himself for not having planned this out better. If she was in the middle of a shift at the restaurant and this didn't end well, he was going to have ruined her whole night.

"John, is it really you?"

"Yeah," he said kind of stupidly and wound the phone cord around his finger absentmindedly, suddenly at a loss for what to say.

"Are you alright?" She asked next and John nearly laughed.

Was he alright? Wasn't that just the question of the day? ...and one he hadn't quite figured out himself just yet.

"I'm alright," was all he could think to offer back and Carrie must have walked into a quieter part of the restaurant because the noises of the kitchen behind her voice died away a bit.

"Eddie and I have been so worried about you. When we got your note we figured we would never see or hear from you again!"

"I went back, Car," he stammered out suddenly and Carrie went quiet again. "I went back and joined up and I'm headed back somewhere that I can't tell you about."

"Is it dangerous?"

He gripped the receiver a little tighter to try and center himself, unnerved by how much hearing her voice again was effecting him. He thought about that night in the kitchen when they'd been together last and wished he could go back to that moment again.

"It could be," he answered quietly and heard Carrie's little intake of breath.

"Please be careful, John. I know you had good reasons for pushing me out and leaving the way you did, but I'm always gonna to love you and I'm always going to worry about where you are and if you're safe." She let it all out in a rush and John tried to decide how to respond. Why couldn't these things be easier for him?

"I will. And I'll call again if I can."

His plan had always been to cut himself off from Blue River forever, but if the call he was making was any indication, part of him obviously still hadn't let go. He wanted to tell Carrie as much, but the words clogged in the back of his throat.

 _Fuck_ this was difficult.

"How are you Carrie?"

"Better, now that I've heard from you. I thought…" but she didn't continue.

"I know, Car. And I should have called sooner." He thought back on the letter he had left, the things he had said. No wonder she had never expected to hear from him again.

"I'm sorry," he finished and wondered if she would understand what he really meant by the apology. He was sorry for what he had put her through, what he was still putting her through, and part of him wanted to hang up with her, walk his tired ass up to Landry's office and demand that Carrie Sinclair be allowed to come with him to Pegasus with him... only he wouldn't because every single member of the Atlantis Expedition knew what they were giving up being involved in such a top secret project. There were costs to being involved in this kind of work, though John had never felt the effects of those costs so keenly before. He was leaving something behind that he still wanted and it was a feeling he wasn't quite used to.

"John, I don't know if this has anything to do with where you are or what you're doing," Carrie was saying, "but there was a man here the other day asking questions about you around town and he didn't seem to be a very big fan of yours. John, is everything okay?"

"I'm alright, Carrie, I promise," he reassured her, but what she had said instantly had him on high alert. "This guy that came around asking about me, did he give a name?"

"Not to me," Carrie replied. "Eddie was the one who talked to the guy. You should probably speak to him about it."

"Well, can you at least describe what he looked like?"

"No, I'm sorry John, I never saw him myself. He was at the Crabby Girl and Eddie chased him off pretty quickly. If you want to leave a number where we can reach you again, I can have Eddie call you as soon as he gets back from visiting his family in Chicago," she suggested. "He should be home early next week."

"I can't Carrie," he answered back carefully, knowing that there was another reason she was asking for a number to contact him at. He only wished he could give her what she wanted. "Security's pretty tight around here, but I'll give him a call when he's back in town." And he would too.

John couldn't help but wonder if someone asking about him in Blue River had anything to do with the deaths surrounding the ATA gene carriers. He'd almost forgotten all about that and would have to remember to sit everyone down soon to start getting a handle on the investigation. If someone was going to try and target his friends in Blue River, he was going to be very pissed. No one but a handful of people on base, Richard Wolsey, and that kid Major Bradshaw he had working for him, knew that he had made Blue River his home, and there was only one name on that list he was suspicious of.

"John?" Carrie asked, interrupting his thoughts.

"Yeah?"

"Are you taking care of yourself?" she asked. "I know how you can get sometimes."

John put a hand to the back of his neck to massage at the tight muscles there, mindful of the aches it ignited in his arms and core as he moved, and sighed.

"It's rough," he admitted instead of deflecting.

"Do you have people there with you? Someone to help?" He thought about Rodney and Carson, Lorne and Fitzpatrick, surprised to realize that he had so many people in his court now.

"I do."

"Okay," she replied and it was as if some broken connection had reestablished itself between them. He felt the threads of it fuse together, tugging him back east towards Wisconsin. He wanted to tell her about everything. What it was like seeing everyone again and how easily they'd all fallen back into their respective friendships. He wanted to tell her about Hank Landry Jr. and the uncle he looked exactly like; how he was terrified at the thought of going back to Atlantis but secretly ecstatic about it all at the same time. He wanted to give her everything, and it was killing him that he couldn't, and not just because half the information was classified.

But John had other ways he'd perfected over the years to show those around him that he cared when words failed him.

"Carrie, could you do me a favor?"

"Anything, John," she replied quickly.

"If anyone else comes asking after me, just tell them you didn't know me. Okay?"

"Should I be worried?"

"I don't think so but for now you and Eddie should just be careful."

"Okay. I can do that," there was determination behind her voice. She was accepting it all without question and with all the resignation of one of his old Marines. "...and John?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm really glad you called."

"Me too." There was a slight pause at the end of the line and Carrie sighed heavily as John heard someone call her name in the restaurant. Carrie cursed.

"I hate to do this to you, but we're getting pretty busy here with a private party and Audra needs me back on the floor. Will you call me again soon?"

"If I can."

"I'll take it. And John?"

"Yeah, Car?"

"I love you. Please be careful."

She ended the call without giving him time to respond and whatever answer he had to give back, died there on his lips.

**SGASGASGASGASGASGASGA**

The next morning dawned almost warm and the change in temperature was enough to cover the whole of Cheyenne Mountain in a fog so thick the helicopter pilot who'd agreed to fly them to Atlantis nearly scrubbed the mission. John was the first one up to the helipad that morning but by the time the next person showed, he'd convinced their pilot to make the flight. The individual who arrived up on the helipad before even McKay or Carson got there surprised him and he tried to hide that surprise when former Petty Officer Sean Fitzpatrick walked up to him as he stood looking over the mountain from a railing on one side of the tarmac. Fitzpatrick's face was beat to hell, just like John's, and he nearly smiled as the big Irishman approached.

"Brigadier General Sheppard," the former Seal intoned with a slight nod and John didn't know what to make of the greeting. Apparently the 'no-rank' rule of his gym didn't extend outside the training rooms in the lower levels of the SGC.

"Oh I think we're a little beyond formality at this point, don't you Fitzpatrick?" John replied a little slyly, eying the man's blackened eyes and bandaged, swollen nose. "You can call me Sheppard if you want."

Fitzpatrick actually smiled. "Alright, Sheppard. I might be joining you guys on Atlantis so Landry suggested I tag along today. I hope you don't mind," he said casually enough but John figured even if he _did_ mind, the former Petty Officer would come along anyway.

He knew that Fitzpatrick and Carson (and probably Landry, too) had planned what had happened in the training room the other day and John knew he should probably be angry about what they'd done to him behind his back, but he just really didn't seem to care anymore. John had the sneaky suspicion that he was stuck with the kid who was leaning nonchalantly against the railing beside him, looking out over the rolling banks of fog like he belonged there, whether John liked it or not. The least he figured he could do was try and get to know the man who was going to attempt to put him back together again after dismantling him quite spectacularly on the mats of the training facilities deep in the mountain beneath their feet.

"You do any flying as a Seal?" He asked and Fitzpatrick looked up at him from where he was bent over the railing.

" _No_ ," he chortled a little, shaking his head, "in fact, I'm terrified of heights and not exactly looking forward to this little helicopter ride we're about to take in this." He gestured towards the tall banks of white walled fog that surrounded them in every direction.

"Eh, we'll be okay," John replied dismissively. "It's too warm for ice and our pilot's flown this before. Nothing to worry about." Fitzpatrick nodded but looked anything but convinced. "So, what made you think about joining the expedition?" John asked to change the subject.

"My dad." The Irishman replied without looking back up over at John and he searched his memory banks for any remembrance of an acquaintance named Fitzpatrick from the times before the war. He couldn't think of any.

"Was he Air Force?"

"A scientist actually, but you wouldn't have known him. He worked here at the SGC and passed away right before he was supposed to head to Pegasus. It was a big dream of his so I figured I'd try it out. See what all the fuss was about." Fitzpatrick smiled and John was glad the man was willing to share a little bit about his past with him considering they'd only know each other all of three days. But at the same time he couldn't help but wonder at how the formal Seal, dressed in civvies and obviously no longer enlisted, knew so much about the top secret mission. The SGC had civilian personnel but John was more interested in why the former Petty Officer hadn't reenlisted like the rest of the returning military men and women had. But perhaps that was a question better left for later once he'd gotten a better handle on the massive man standing next to him.

"Well, I suppose you could beat people up in space, too," John goaded and Fitzpatrick actually laughed. It wasn't something John would have expected the former Seal capable of, but he did it.

"You held your own alright, I'd say," he answered back and ghosted his fingers over the bruises darkening both of his eyes making him look a bit like a raccoon - or panda with that ridiculously pale Irish complexion of his, John couldn't really decide.

"You kicked my ass, Fitzpatrick," he laughed. "Take the compliment." But Fitzpatrick straightened up from the railing and turned toward John with a somber look on his face.

"I know my methods aren't always the easiest, but they get the job done."

"I'll say," John replied a little sarcastically, but he meant it.

"I'm just glad there doesn't seem to be any lasting damage."

Fitzpatrick said it seriously enough but with an almost smile tugging up at one corner of his mouth. The former Navy Seal was the reason John was hurting physically, but he would heal from those injuries. In fact, he was feeling better already. What the Seal/pseudo psychologist standing beside him seemed to also be implying was that maybe there was still hope for John's head as well.

He would take whatever progress he could get.

"If you two lads are quite ready," Carson Beckett interrupted them a moment later, "our pilot says it's time to go."

Carson and Rodney must have arrived up on the helipad sometime while John and Fitzpatrick had been talking over by the railing and John didn't miss the irritated glance McKay threw the former Seal's way when he neared the helicopter walking beside John. Clearly the inclusion of the fourth in their travel party hadn't been Rodney's idea either.

John pulled himself into the back of the helicopter behind Fitzpatrick who'd informed an annoyed Rodney that he couldn't sit in the front beside the pilot. He claimed it was because of his fear of flying, but John had a different theory, but any anger he might have felt at Fitzpatrick for trying to insinuate himself into John's life fell away a second later when a cold sweat sprang up on his forehead as he tried to pull himself in, and he nearly lost himself in another panic attack.

He had been hoping that yesterday in the training room would have been a cure-all. That the panic attacks would go away now that he'd faced his past and stood his ground, but it was happening again and John hand't realized he'd closed his eyes until Fitzpatrick was yelling at him.

"Open your damn eyes, General Sheppard!" Fitzpatrick ordered and John, still crouched half-in/half-out of the back of the bird and shaking like a leaf, froze in place and uncemented his eyelids to look over at Fitzpatrick angrily. Heat rose from the center of him to color his face at the fact that the former Navy Seal was not only calling him out in front of everyone but that three pairs of concerned eyes were now focusing in on him because of it.

But Fitzpatrick didn't seem to care. "Quit glaring at me like that and take a look around you. This helicopter is nothing like the Medvac bird that transported you to the hospital after the crash."

John's knuckles went white as he gripped the side of the helicopter, ready to offer some snide comment, but Fitzpatrick ignored all of it.

"Look, John!" The former Seal ordered again, so he did, begrudgingly... but Fitzpatrick seemed to be on to something. The helicopter they were in was a completely different model and one he wasn't even familiar with and that looked almost Russian in make. The inside was spacious with a long bench and no IOA sent assassin waiting inside to take advantage of the fact that he was bleeding out and very nearly dead.

John inhaled, pulled himself the rest of the way in and took a seat beside Fitzpatrick to make room for Carson to jump in after him. He kept his eyes forward, angry as hell for what Fitzpatrick had done to him right in front of everyone, but secretly relieved that what the former Seal had suggested had worked. The panic attack had subsided as quickly as it had come, the only hint that it had been about to over take him the sweat dampening his palms. He wiped them against his pant legs then asked Carson if the doc would mind switching seats with him. He knew what it looked like: some childish move to get as far away from the kid he was furious at in the moment, but John needed to see the sky. Carson obliged and John settled in as the blades above them whirled to life and the helicopter lifted away from the mountain.

The fog they flew through was thick, but the bird they were in was high-tech and John had faith in the instruments to bring them out of the foothills of the mountain range unscathed. Fog was easy enough to fly in if you knew what you were doing and where you were going and John got the urge again to ask to fly the helicopter himself. But it was going to be a long time (if ever again) before anyone let him into a cockpit.

"I'm never going ta get used to this," Carson spoke to them all over the headset as they took off into the fog and John flashed the doc half a smile when he looked over at where Carson was seated beside him, eyes flickering over to Fitzpatrick next who was white knuckling a security bar bolted to the side of the helicopter and looking a little green; getting a little taste himself of what John had just gone through. Ah Karma.

But while Carson and Fitzpatrick might never get used to flying, John was going to forever be used to this and he went back to watching out the window he was pressed against as they cut through the pea soup thick fog.

The billowing fog was swirling past his window in plumes of white that raced along the glass but the warm Colorado December sunlight was burning it off quickly enough as they headed out of the mountains and John watched the world below slowly become visible again beneath the helicopter. This was the feeling he'd been hoping for on his trip from the airport to Cheyenne Mountain that day Rodney had come to bring him back to the SGC, which had never come: the sheer exhilaration of flying thousands of feet above the earth in a craft you needed endless hours of training just to be able to fly. It was what he'd first jumped into when he'd decided he wanted to be a pilot in the Air Force all those years ago and it was probably the one thing in all his earthbound years of self-imposed exile that he missed the most.

Cheyenne Mountain was part of the Colorado Rockies and John watched as the rough terrain of the mountain ranges gave way to the softer, more rolling hills of Southern Utah and then finally California wine country as they made their way west and towards the bay that still held the cloaked and dormant city of Atlantis. As if sensing it was on its way to the place that had maimed it, John's knee gave an errant throb of pain and he reached down to finger one edge of the brace he wore beneath his pants. He wondered if the evidence of the explosion that had nearly ended his life would still be visible, but he didn't feel like asking, deciding instead to just take things as they came today and not try to dwell on what might be in store for him. He'd managed to get a good night's sleep thanks to some sleeping pills he'd let Carson convince him into taking after an impassioned speech about how it was okay to accept help sometimes and he was feeling more like himself than he had in years. He was ready to take this on and was glad he was doing it with Rodney and Carson alongside him; the only two in the helicopter who had any inkling as to what it was they were about to do.

"How long since you two have been back?" He asked over his headset and Carson and Rodney both turned towards him a second later when his voice finally reached their own headsets after a beat.

"I'm with you, John," Carson answered first. "I havenea been back since right after the crash."

"I've been overseeing the project to get her back in the air so I'm over there fairly regularly anymore." Rodney piped in and John nodded.

"How's that going?"

"Fine. They repaired most of the damage from the crash landing. It's just a matter of starting to boot up some of the old systems again. We should run through a few of them when we get there if you don't mind," Rodney suggested and John gave the scientist a thumbs up in agreement. It was going to be strange after all these years, but he would do it if it would help.

Hearing the Ancient technology mentioned again had John's thoughts meandering over to what Rodney and Landry had told him earlier; the details about why he was being tapped for this when they had the whole world to search for someone with a gene strong enough to fly the city out into the cosmos and to an entirely different galaxy. Someone was trying to sabotage the Atlantis Expedition and John wanted to know why. Why were they killing people with the Ancient gene and, more importantly, could they get at him in the SGC. He still didn't know any of the details and reminded himself again to sit everyone down as soon as he could to get the full story on what had been happening. If anything, maybe he could help them figure out what was going on and who would want to stop the Atlantis Expedition from getting back up on its feet by killing off the few men and women still left who even had the ATL gene.

The murders weren't the only things he'd been thinking of asking Rodney McKay about either. The astrophysicist might not even remember telling John, or had assumed he'd forgotten all about it, but there was still the matter of Teyla's son, Torren

His namesake, for goodness sake.

Rodney had told him over dinner back in his cabin all those days ago that it had been Teyla's wish that Torren remain on earth, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out why. Her son's place had been with his father and back with Teyla's people, the Athosians, and John had this terrible feeling that he'd made some kind of crucial mistake. Teyla had cared enough about it to make sure at least Rodney knew of her wishes regarding her son and when John had run all those years ago and left Atlantis and the SGC in his dust, he'd apparently missed some pretty important information. Only he hadn't had a chance yet to sit McKay down and ask him about it all. They would have plenty of time for that later though, and John thought again of Atlantis.

The ancient city had remained earthbound and cloaked in the San Francisco Bay for nearly twenty years and even though John knew she was there beneath the helicopter as they made their decent and landed on an island helipad near a long doc that seemingly disappeared into the middle of the bay, it was unnerving to see nothing but crystalline water stretching out in all directions around them. It was one of those cloudless California December days where the sun shone down almost hot on their shoulders and John shrugged out of the heavy winter coat he'd needed up in the mountains and left it in the back of the helicopter. San Francisco was glimmering fuzzily a few miles away, distorted through a haze left behind by the morning fog and John couldn't help but look out over the water as they walked to marvel at the view. He'd only been here one other time in his life and that had been when he was half dead and too out of it to truly appreciate the beauty of the city that sat admiring itself in the calm waters of the bay that surrounded it.

The long dock leading away from the manmade island the military had installed in the middle of the bay seemed to lead to nowhere and John tried to pull a picture of the last time he'd seen Atlantis uncloaked to the forefront of his mind. There was a prickle at the back of his neck, a portent maybe - if he believed in such things - that warned him against pulling up too much of the past again too quickly and he fought against a shudder. The last time he'd seen Atlantis was strapped to a stretcher, thrust into the back of a helicopter with as much haste as the EMTs dared with the state he was in, and out the open door of the aircraft as it lifted him away from Carson Beckett still standing on the platform screaming his name.

Just as his would be assassin had slammed home the door and shut him in, John had gotten one last fleeting glimpse of his city's tall spires smoking against the picturesque backdrop of the Golden Gate Bridge. It had been foggy that day, too, his memories reminded him as they passed through his mind with all the grace of a bad dream. His palms were sweaty again and he balled them up and prayed no one behind him was picking up on his rising tension.

When their small party reached what appeared to be the end of the dock, Rodney was the first to step forward and disappear completely. For any other person in the world it would have been the strangest sight to see, worthy of freaking out over, but the rest of them followed after the scientist unfazed, and one by one disappeared behind the cloak that had hidden Atlantis from the general population of Earth for nearly two decades.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take a moment to review. It really does help me get motivated to post faster!


	13. Atlantis At Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for violence, injury and language in this chapter

There was a certain feeling he would get that started in the pit of his stomach every time he settled down into the space of a cockpit. It was a spark of something indescribable that exploded outwards into full on euphoria the exact moment his jet's wheels would lift from the runway and time would stand still for a fraction of a second. John Sheppard had forgotten all about that feeling (being grounded for the past 18 years could do that to you) but when he stepped through the invisible cloak concealing the ancient city of Atlantis, it reared up inside of him like some kind of chemical reaction that had been lying dormant in his chest just waiting for that one last element to detonate.

Oh to be home.

Materializing on the other side of that shield, John could instantly feel the city call out to him... sense her tendrils of energy reaching out to grab hold of the ones his own body threw until the connections reestablished themselves and he very nearly stumbled. Atlantis was far from dormant. She greeted John like an old friend and it was if the very metal beneath his feet came to life with the charge of that reunion... and people noticed.

"Holy shit," Fitzpatrick muttered, but John was too busy blinking up into the sun and trying to spot the tops of the tall spires that rose up around him as if Atlantis had thrust her hands up into the sky in elation that he had returned. His city was brilliant in the midday sun. So much so that John had to stop for a moment to take it all in, Fitzpatrick hovering nearby as if he half expected him to crumble to dust at the sight of the city he'd been separated from for nearly 20 years.

But it wasn't like that at all.

His blood was alive under the pull of nearby Ancient technology. His ATA gene tugged him forward by the connections he'd just formed and willed his feet to move deeper into the city. It was as if every bit of Atlantis was calling out to every bit of him and something suddenly slotted itself back into place at the center of him. It was something he'd never even realized he'd lost, and its unexpected reappearance in its rightful place inside was enough to nearly knock John off his feet.

Atlantis was exactly like he remembered her; from the gunboat grey color of her tall outer towers to the sparkling water that lapped up gently against her silvery sleek underbelly. It all came at him with the concussive G-Force of a takeoff that pushed him back bodily even as the city before him drew him in greedily.

He was home.

After eighteen fucking years, John Sheppard was home.

"Sure is something, isn't she?" Rodney waxed a little wistfully as he came up to stand beside John. He wrenched his eyes away from the radiant sight before him to look over at his friend even though he knew he would be unable to check the raw emotion Rodney would see there behind his eyes. The scientist smiled. No, scratch that. Rodney McKay was friggin' _beaming_ at him like he was taking sole credit for reuniting two long lost friends and John had half a mind to pull the damn old fool in for an awkward, one armed hug. He wouldn't of course, but the thought was enough to get him to smile back.

"Welcome home, John," Rodney spoke almost reverently and John released a breath. He needed some kind of purchase, an anchor perhaps, or the enormity of what he was feeling was going to topple him over the edge and send him sprawling. He clapped a hand to McKay's shoulder like some kind of life line and the scientist grabbed his elbow a second later to steady him as he started to sway.

" _Shit_ ," he sputtered, embarrassed at being so overwhelmed, but Rodney just waived it off.

"If you ladies wouldnea mind," Carson interrupted the moment, coming up beside them as they both dropped their hands, "I'd like to go in already and see what mess they're makin' of my infirmary." The doc was eager to check on things there, but in the end, Rodney convinced him that their first stop should be the Gateroom.

The three friends made the trip caught in the net of old memories and Fitzpatrick fell into step behind them silently. The former Seal didn't attempt to impinge on their conversation, but John was conscious of the man's razor sharp gaze on him the entire way. By the time they finally reached the cavernous room that held Atlantis' Stargate he was about ready to turn around and ask the man just what the hell it was he was expecting John to do.

Stepping into the Atlantis Gateroom was like stepping back in time, and John forgot all about being irritated at their unwanted party crasher a moment later when he entered. Nothing about the place had changed and there were even a few techs working behind a console or two up on the main platform and, had they been dressed in the old uniforms the expedition team used to wear, John would have suspected that he really had been hurtled back in time... which had been known to happen.

The San Francisco Bay was on full display through the floor to ceiling windows across the sonorous room and the only thing that hinted Atlantis wasn't where she should be was the laddered red skeleton of the Golden Gate Bridge visible through the glass. Even the water outside was the same azure blue as the oceans of New Lantia, and all of it was watched over by the tall imposing Stargate keeping watch from one end of the room.

Seeing the Gateroom again brought a flood of good memories back to the surface of John's thoughts and he let a few of them play out in his mind: Ronan's first mission, pushing Rodney off the upper level balcony after they'd found that protection shield, Elizabeth walking across the elevated platform to stand on the balcony and greet each returning team... The memories were as much a part of him as the very oxygen in the room and John lost himself in them for a moment until Evan Lorne bounded down the Gateroom stairs to greet them.

"Guys," he nodded then turned to John with a hand extended. "Brigadier General Sheppard."

"So this is where you've been hiding," John grinned, taking the hand that was offered.

"Yeah, I've been working over here a bit lately. Just making sure everyone stays safe." With the threat of sabotage hanging over their heads, John could understand the SGC wanting a little extra security.

"How are things going?" Rodney asked. "Any suspicious activity?"

"Nope, everything's quiet. There have been a couple of ATA carriers aboard for the past few days testing systems and there haven't been any problems." Everyone glanced over to John after Lorne said that and he flinched under their apprehensive gazes.

" _What_? No one's tried to kill me... yet."

"That's not funny Sheppard." It was Rodney who chided him.

"Relax, Rodney. And I thought you guys said all the ATA gene carriers were dead," John remembered, ignoring the looks the men around him were still throwing.

"That's just a precaution, General," Lorne answered. "We have a few people left with the gene occurring naturally in their blood, but none of them are _any_ good at using the Ancient technology." Lorne spoke the critical observation low and shot a glance over his shoulder at the working scientists behind the consoles to make sure none of them were listening. "Still, we try to keep them safe and only a handful of people know who they are. Hopefully we can keep it that way and no one else will get hurt."

"What steps are you taking for added security Colonel?" Fitzpatrick asked, their taciturn fifth wheel finally speaking up.

"We're adding more surveillance cameras, tougher security checkpoints at the entrances..."

"... but no one stopped us!" Rodney interrupted.

"Well that would be because I knew you were coming, Dr. McKay," Lorne replied curtly, managing to hide any displeasure he might have felt at being interrupted. He turned back to Fitzgerald. "... and we're thinking of implementing a key card system. Atlantis has sensors, but if a person doesn't have the ATA gene, it's a bit harder to track them through the city."

"Tis a damn shame we even need them at all," Carson reflected, shaking his head a little.

"Yeah well, with half the men, budget, and resources we were used to having 20 years ago, it's an unfortunate necessity," Lorne finished with a sigh.

"Well, as _interesting_ as all this security talk is fellas," Rodney interrupted again a moment later, "I want to take General Sheppard to the Control Chair room to show him the power source we found. You guys... keep doing whatever it was you were doing."

The scientist waived Lorne off dismissively and started off towards the exit, hauling a befuddled John behind him. He shot Lorne an apologetic glance over his shoulder, just in time to see his 2IC roll his eyes and glare over at McKay, but Rodney was too eager to get John out of the Gateroom to notice. Carson, wanting to check on the progress of his infirmary, left them in the corridor outside and a moment later John found himself being lead down a familiar passageway and towards a room he had never expected to see again.

The prospect of that visit was enough to set his heart to pounding.

"Wait till you see this, Sheppard," Rodney was spouting animatedly when John finally got the roaring in his ears to settle down enough to hear what his friend was saying. "Remember that power source I was telling you about back in Wisconsin? The one I told you you'd need to see it to believe? Well we're storing them in here for now."

Rodney approached the Control Chair room first with John dragging his feet behind him and a silent Fitzpatrick taking up the rear, watching all of it closely. John did his best to ignore the hovering former Seal and focused all his attention on remaining calm. His life had been irrevocably altered in the room they were about to visit and he had no idea how he was going to react once he got inside. A million tiny emotions and sensations were coercing up and down his limbs and it all felt strange and risky, like he was in very real danger of shaking apart completely in there with no real way to pull himself back together again if the damage was extensive enough.

Rodney paused before the door and swiped a hand across the sensor to the room as it if were the most natural thing in the world... A small vortex of air pulled at John's pant leg as the door opened and he stiffened as he got his first look inside the room where life as he'd known it had ended...

When John had last been inside the Control Chair room, it had been charred and smoking; it's walls riddled with the injury of explosion. He could almost picture his body lying just inside the door where he had been thrown against the wall by the sheer force of the internal explosion that had rocked Atlantis a few hours after he had crash landed her in the San Francisco Bay. All city systems had failed and something in the level below had blasted its way up through the floor beneath the chair when he had returned to it to try and find Zelenka.

God, Radek Zelenka. How many years had it been since he'd thought about that man?

Memories drew John the rest of the way into the room and he was almost surprised to find that there was solid floor beneath his boots. The last time he'd been there, the ground had been nothing more than a gaping hole wreathed in flame and John stopped for a moment, half expecting another explosion to rock the room and send him flying. That explosion years ago had sent shrapnel ripping through his body and his knee opened up in a phantom hot pain that sliced its way up his thigh as the joint threatened to buckle beneath him. He'd been a mess of internal bleeding from the force of his flight through the air and against the wall, but the physical memories were something he could manage. It was the emotion that was threatening to unhinge him then and Fitzpatrick came up behind him cautiously. If this was how they were going to spend the next few weeks as John trained, he was going to get real tired of it, real quick.

John resolutely refused to acknowledge Fitzpatrick and flicked his eyes instead over to Rodney who was standing near the now repaired control chair, unmoving. He wondered then if Rodney was going through the same memories as he was in that instant because the scientist had stopped right where he had come to a halt all those years before to scream at John to stop.

 _"...There are_ people _on those ships!"_

Rodney's remembered words echoed around his skull like they had echoed around the control chair room that day and John closed his eyes against a wave of nausea as the lights in the room pulsed above their heads. It was as if Atlantis was remembering what happened next right along with him.

It had been all over after he'd heard those words. John had come to the knife-in-the-center-of-the-gut realization that he had just taken out the last remaining Wraith Hive ship in the skies above the Earth seconds before Rodney had entered the room, a disheveled and heartbroken Carson Beckett following in soon after. And a moment later he had let Atlantis crash into the San Francisco bay because he couldn't control her decent any longer after learning what he had just done...

"You guys okay?" Fitzpatrick asked, speaking for the first time and John opened his eyes in time to watch Rodney's entire frame shudder as the lights in the room returned to normal. The scientist looked old from the back: bent and worn; John felt the same way for a moment. Those memories were from a long time ago but even so, their shoulders were no longer youthful and strong or up to the task of carrying such burdens anymore.

John indicated to Fitzpatrick that he was fine but took a step towards Rodney, unsure of how to manage the situation should his friend turn his direction and finally show a chink in that seemingly impenetrable armor of his. But John saw nothing of the sort when Rodney finally turned back around to face him. In fact, the scientist had a fake smile plastered on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes and spoke his next words too brightly. .

"Now, about that surprise I was telling you about!"

The matter had seemingly been dropped and John didn't dare resurrect it as Rodney stepped aside to puff out his chest and gesture proudly towards a large crate sitting beside the chair. The scientist's lips disappeared into a smug smile that dripped so much of self-appreciation John almost caught sight of the old Rodney McKay for a minute. All that was missing in the scientist's big reveal was a bang and a sing-song 'ta-da'. John walked up to the tall metal case that Rodney was standing beside and flipped open the latches to take a look at what was inside.

Neatly organized in several straight rows and stacked about 10 high at least was a collection of glowing ZPMs that colored John's face orange as he leaned over the crate and peered down at them. He sucked in a breath, still tender ribs protesting the surprise expansion. There were enough Zero Point Modules in that crate to power Atlantis for an eternity.

"Where the hell did you find all of these?" His thoughts immediately went to Todd and the Wraith, their last source of a ZPM, but that was impossible. The Wraith had been obliterated thanks to Atlantis and the weapons platform at Area 51.

"Would you believe we found them in Antarctica hidden in a chamber under where the control chair used to sit?" Came Rodney's excited response. "All those years and we had all the power we needed buried right there under the ice! And we discovered them all thanks to yours truly!" McKay pointed at himself with a thumb.

"How? John asked, genuinely interested as he pulled out one of the ZPMs from the crate and hefted its weight in his hand. He'd forgotten how heavy those suckers could be. Rodney made a move like he wanted to yank it from his grasp and scold him for touching things he shouldn't, but the scientist seemed to think better of it and settled back on his heels.

"It was after the chair was moved to Area 51, obviously. Originally when the Antarctica base was scanned for energy readings years ago, it was assumed the power source that the team found was just the ZedPM powering the chair. But as it turned out, that ZedPM's energy source and the surrounding layers of ice were only masking the massive store of them that was hidden underneath the Control Chair! We only found them a few months ago when I did a sweep of the planet with a new device I'm working on."

"So you found them by accident," John smiled over at Rodney but the scientist scowled.

"Hardly." he said, looking hurt, but John just turned back to the crate with half a smile.

"So you found a stash of Zero Point Modules and bibity-bobity-boo, the Atlantis Expedition is back on."

"Well yeah." Rodney answered like it was the most logical conclusion to come to.

"...And then tapped me to come back and fly the city home."

"Yes, pretty much."

"Wow, Rodney. I'm impressed." He looked back over at McKay who was studying John as if he wasn't quite sure if he was really being sincere, or just sarcastic.

"Mock me all you want Sheppard," Rodney stated, apparently choosing the later and going all high and mighty on John in an instant, "but I found us enough power to last a lifetime and we're going back to Pegasus because of it."

"I know you did Rodney," he said, handing the ZPM he still had in his hands back over to the scientist. "You did good work."

John watched Rodney's face morph from outrage into realization as the fact that he'd just been complimented finally started to dawn on him. "Well thanks," he half mumbled and John shrugged it off.

"Give praise where praise is due, that's my motto."

"Oh please!" Rodney snorted, pulling a face. "You've never said that before in your life. And since when do you have a motto?"

"Since right now I guess," he shrugged with a crooked smile but the scientist just shook his head and walked back over to the ZPM case to replace the one John had pulled out. When McKay turned back around to face him again, his eyes were alight with mischief.

"So, do you want to sit in it?" Rodney suggested and John didn't miss the discrete glance the scientist threw over at Fitzpatrick... or the former Seal's attempt at an inconspicuous nod back. So Rodney McKay was in on the plan to rehabilitate him too, was he? John rolled his eyes at the stupid antics and McKay at least had the decency to look sheepish. Fitzpatrick just glowered back over at him as if daring John to make a big deal about it.

"I've routed most of the city's main systems into her so we can use the neural interface to run some diagnostics. I mean... you know, if you're up for it." John cast apprehensive eyes back over to the chair he hadn't sat in in over 18 years. The ATA gene in John's blood had been restless ever since he'd stepped through the cloak separating Atlantis from the rest of Earth and something inside of John made him stretch his tingling fingers out instinctively. His city was calling to him and it was as come-hither a feeling as Carrie standing at the foot of the staircase curling a finger at him to join her upstairs.

All that power, all that... potential.

He shivered, but it wasn't out of anticipation; not in the end. It was dread... because while Atlantis called to him from somewhere unseen, there was another side to the unbridled power and control she offered. The last time John had been in the control chair he'd fallen over into that other side. That other place where defensive drones could be used to blast whole Wraith Hive ships from the sky as billions of people lost their lives... John could feel the familiar pull of panic threatening and bitterness flooded the back of his throat as his anxiety rose higher. This was a big moment, his mind was screaming at him, and he looked back and forth between McKay and Fitzpatrick for some kind of confirmation on what he should do. But both men were staring back at him impassively with nothing helpful on their faces.

John clenched his teeth and closed his eyes on a tense exhalation as he made himself walk the few feet over to the chair. He climbed into it cautiously, half expecting it to pull him in before he was ready. He let his back rest against the unyielding material the chair was constructed from and tried to rein in his skittering heart. It was like a drum line in his chest, every beat swelling towards some unknown crescendo as he let his hands rest on the cool gel pads on either arm of the chair. He could have tried to prepare himself for what came next, but it would have been useless, and as the back plate began to recline, his body came alive with the sudden jolt of direct connection.

The feeling of completeness was instantaneous as every molecule of Atlantis passed through him at once, broadcasting hurts, severed connections, and incomplete circuits, until it nearly overpowered him. But after an overwhelming instant of _everything_ there came a calm moment of _nothing,_ until finally all of Atlantis sat before him like a blank computer screen with a single white cursor blinking at the center of his brain, the words ' _shall we begin'_ appearing there suddenly as if typed.

"Everything alright?" Rodney asked a little worriedly and John pried open the eyes he hadn't even realized he'd closed to nod. He was breathing heavily but otherwise seemed to be okay and Rodney's face filled with relief when John looked over at him.

"It's fine, though you've got a major coolant leak in the propulsion systems you should probably get fixed before we take off. I don't think we want to blow Atlantis up right after we get her up and running again," he suggested and Rodney smiled over at him like a friggin' kid at Christmas.

The two friends spent the next few hours or so going through some of the more minor systems and checking various parts of the city for issues. Having three ZMPs powering Atlantis made all the difference and she was running how she was meant to run: firing on all cylinders and purring like a kitten... well, mostly. With the proper amount of power John was able to access things he'd never been able to access before, his experience with a full powered Atlantis brief to say the least, and before long he was running through her systems like he both belonged there and was welcomed. Rodney was eating it up as well and John could never remember seeing the man so giddy. But as fun as running diagnostics with Rodney McKay in a good mood all afternoon was, the fact still remained that Atlantis was a complex system, and a little while later John was starting to feel the effects of mucking about in them. His hands trembled a little (and not from panic for once) and the first whispers of a migraine were starting to make themselves known in the spaces behind his eyes. John knew if he didn't want to spend the next day huddled under the blankets of his bead fighting off one of his headaches, he needed a break.

During his time in the chair Fitzpatrick had disappeared for a while to leave them to the boring work but had since returned and seemed to pick up on John's deteriorating state. He came up to stand beside him as he looked John over in concern.

"Ya alright, General?" He asked and John lifted his hands from the pads of the chair. It returned to its upright position and Rodney looked up angrily from the tablet he was bent over, sitting on top of the ZPM case.

"Hey, why'd you stop? I was right in the middle of something!" He hollered, but one look at John and he stopped.

"I think the Brigadier General needs a break, Dr. McKay." Fitzpatrick said over his shoulder and Rodney walked back over.

"Well if you would have told me earlier, I could have stopped, John."

"It's no big deal, Rodney," John cut in, not sure what all the fuss was about. He was a little tired but other than that, he felt fine.

"Yeah, well you look like you're about to keel over." Rodney was looking him over critically and John wiped a hand across his brow, mindful of his stitched up forehead. He was clammy and now that McKay mentioned it, maybe the chair had taken a little more out of him than he realized.

"Hey, Doc, do you think you could give us a few minutes alone?" Fitzpatrick asked and John looked up sharply. The former Seal didn't return the look but kept his eyes fixed on Rodney who's gaze ping-ponged back and forth between John and former Seal before he finally gave up with a shrug.

"I guess I'll go... find Carson," he replied and left the room quickly without looking back. John watched him go, thought he heard a faint " _just_ _don't break him again_ " muttered under the scientist's breath, then sighed when Fitzpatrick rounded on him once they were alone.

"Is this how it's gonna be the whole time I work with you? Because if it is and you're going to be mother henning me the entire time, this isn't going to work out," John grumbled, resting his elbows on the tops of his knees and massaging his aching temples.

"If I remember correctly, you got injured pretty badly in here. Am I right?" Fitzpatrick asked, ignoring John's hostility.

He exhaled. "Yeah. Pretty badly is a good way to describe it."

"Want to tell me about what happened?"

" _No_ ," he chuckled cheerlessly, looking up at the frowning Fitzpatrick. Apparently the former Seal had lost his sense of humor.

John shrugged. "What good would it do?"

"Humor me."

"You gonna beat me up again if I don't?"

"I don't know, can you stop deflecting for one goddamn minute and give me a straight answer?"

"Pissing me off enough to get me to talk might have worked once, _Petty Officer_ ," John spat heatedly, "but not again. Get some new material!"

Fitzpatrick went still and narrowed his eyes. "I told you once before, Sheppard, call me Petty Officer again and I'll wipe the floor with you. I'm going to give you a pass this time, but say it again and I _will_ kick your ass."

John let his face darken. "You're so big on sharing, why don't you tell me why you won't reenlist and maybe then I'll tell you what happened after the crash," he volleyed back, ignoring the threat, and Fitzpatrick's narrowed eyes regarded him sharply. He didn't flat out refuse though and that took John by surprise.

"Alright, that's fair," Fitzpatrick replied unexpectedly, running a hand over the stubble at his chin as he thought on it. "I tell you about why I won't reenlist and you take me through everything that happened after the crash. And I mean everything, Sheppard. All of it starting from when the city hit the water and up until they flew you out of here on that helicopter to the Denver trauma center. Agreed?"

John paused for a moment to try and decide if the bargain was worth it. He really didn't give a shit about the kid standing in front of him at the moment, not with the constant hovering all day, but another part of him wanted to know the story behind Former Petty Officer First Class Sean Fitzpatrick.

"Alright," he said finally. "But you go first."

"Fine," Fitzpatrick fired back then turned his back on John. He nearly asked just what the hell the kid was doing but Fitzpatrick's head fell forward before he could and the Seal's shoulders shook ever so slightly. It was the strangest thing in the world, watching a man as big as Fitzpatrick struggle like that to keep himself together, but a moment later he turned back around again and whatever it was he had been hoping to hide from John was long gone from his face.

"I was home the day the Wraith attacked," he started. "I'd just finished boot camp and was awaiting my orders when those... _things_ started culling. My entire fucking neighborhood was wiped out in a matter of seconds and the only reason I wasn't there with them was because I had taken my mom's car to the gas station to fill it up for her as a surprise. She was all by herself when the Wraith came and for a long time I blamed myself that she had been taken.

I heard these rumors a little while later about some program the government was running to fight the aliens responsible and I went looking for it, hoping I could sign up and help... you know, get my revenge and all. But the rumors were just that... rumors, though I would find out later that they had kind of been true. The Stargate program was a real thing, as you well know, and I got myself involved in it somehow. I guess it was because I was a good solider with a clean record and they were desperate, so I got my security clearance and that was that. But during orientation we were told what really happened that day the Wraith came to Earth... and how they were defeated. I found out about what they had you do, Sheppard, and after that I signed my separation papers and left."

"What made you come back?" John asked.

"Landry, actually. I'm assuming you've met Major Scott Bradshaw?" John nodded. "He tracked me down and convinced me to come in for a meeting with Landry and the guy set me straight. By the time all that happened 15 years had gone by. I had gone back to school and gotten a psychology degree and had been working with a local hospital helping them deal with some vets that were having a hard time coming to terms with what happened. Landry figured I'd be an asset to the SGC with my particular skill set and with all you older guys coming back to help them restart the program. He told me about the kind of alien race the Wraith were, how if my mom had lived, she would have been nothing more than a meal to those animals, and I agreed to come back and help with your case."

"My _case_ , huh? You make me sound like one of your psyche patients, Fitzpatrick," John said warily, wondering how it was the man in front of him was willing to even try and help him, considering he'd most likely fired the shots that had killed his family.

"If I told you we were leaving Earth today and to sit back in that chair and fly us out of here, could you honestly tell me you'd be 100% ready for that emotionally?"

"I don't know! Probably not..."

"Right! So quit trying to deflect and downplay the fact that you need some help to get back to full fighting strength. It's nothing to be ashamed of and it's what I'm here to help you with. A wise man would recognize that fact and use it to his advantage."

"You've obviously not read my file," John muttered back but Fitzpatrick just laughed.

"Oh I've read it. Stubborn, obstinate, trouble with authority. It's all in there but believe me, Sheppard, I've seen worse."

"So why not reenlist?" John pushed ahead, choosing to ignore the barb, and Fitzpatrick shrugged.

"I said I would come back and help, not that I would forgive them completely and join up again."

"A skilled fighter like you, we could sure use you."

"I'm more of a lover than a fighter these days."

"Could have fooled me," John snorted.

"Hey, I knew you weren't going to respond if I sat you down on a couch and asked you to talk about your feelings."

"No, you'd rather wait to get me on Atlantis and into the control chair to do it."

"Touché, Sheppard," Fitzpatrick laughed. "And speaking of which, I believe we had a deal. My story for yours."

"I don't know, Fitzpatrick... I don't think we've adequately delved into this fear you seem to have of reenlisting." John replied slyly as Fitzpatrick cocked amused eyebrows at him.

"I'm not _afraid_ of reenlisting, Sheppard," he challenged back.

"Then why not do it?"

"We're not here to discuss me. We're here to help you get back into shape to lead this mission. Now come on Sheppard, I told you about my past, time to take me through what happened after the crash." But John wasn't done with the former Seal just yet.

"You know, you really shouldn't deflect the fact that you need some help getting over what happened so you can reenlist. I can help you with that and a wise man would acknowledge that fact and use it to his advantage." He was using Fitzpatrick's own words against him and for a moment something intense back-lit the young man's eyes, but whatever it was, it was gone in an instant to be replaced by something resembling amusement.

"Fair enough. I'll start thinking about reenlisting if you do like you promised and take me through the events after the crash."

John, knowing he could stall no longer and convincing himself that sharing it all with Fitzpatrick was the right thing to do, let his mind slip back into the past...

..

\oO0Oo/

..

"Colonel Sheppard?" John was pulled from his concentration by a voice in his ear that nearly startled him.

It had been quiet on the comms for a while now. Everyone was trying to give him the space he needed to concentrate all his thoughts on flying Atlantis back to the Milky Way. Fresh from the loss of Ronon and Teyla on the Super Hive, nerves were frayed all around, and chatter had been kept to a minimum but now that John was about to drop the city out of hyperspace, Woolsey had come back on over the frequency.

John drew in a weary breath. "Yeah, I'm here."

Flying the ship while trying not to fall apart over the loss of his friends was taking its toll and taxing his already depleted reserves. He'd only ever been in the control chair when the city had been at half power and at full power... well, there was so much more to her than he had been ready for.

No wonder Carson Beckett hadn't been able to handle her.

"I've just received word from Earth and it's not good," Woolsey went on in his ear. "They'll need us to go in with everything we've got as soon as we drop out of hyperspace. Understood?"

"Roger that Mr. Woolsey. Sheppard out." His reply was terse but the voice in his ear stayed mercifully silent, and John focused his mind back on the task at hand.

Atlantis was already relaying him readings of the battle raging between the Hives, the Area 51 control chair and the recently arrived Daedalus and John familiarized himself as best he could with the feel of the Earth ship and her F302s. He would need to be careful so he wouldn't hit any of them when Atlantis dropped out of hyperspace and he began the attack. The Wraith Hive ships were everywhere and he worried for a very real moment that Atlantis wouldn't have the firepower needed to destroy them. The expedition had one advantage though, the Wraith had no idea they were coming. And maybe, just maybe, John could pull all this off before those bastards started culling and things got complicated... Or at the very least, inflict enough damage somehow to make up for the fact that his friend's corpses had just been blown up with the Super Hive.

John fought back a shudder.

"We're about ready for you to drop us out of hyperspace, Sir," one of the techs in the room let him know and John nodded solemnly from his reclined position in the chair.

This was it, the moment of truth for the human race, and John couldn't afford to fuck it up.

If he did, if even one ship was allowed to get away, then they would be screwed. The Hive would be able to alert any remaining Wraith in the Pegasus galaxy that hadn't received the subspace transmission to Earth's location, and that would be the end of it. Atlantis wouldn't have the element of surprise any longer and having the ancient city on Earth might not be enough to deter any remaining Wraith that might still be out there from returning to its fertile feeding grounds. The people of the Milky Way galaxy had enough to worry about without adding the possibility of a hostile alien race returning to try and make a meal of them again.

"We're nearly there. On my mark, Sir," the tech said again, and John almost asked why the unknown scientist was giving him directions instead of McKay, but figured Rodney, like himself, was probably still reeling from the fact that they'd just lost Ronon and Teyla.

But there was no time to linger on regret and a moment later John halted Atlantis' path through the stars and coasted her expertly out through the hyperspace window he could picture opening in his mind as he deposited them into the thick of the fighting.

Piloting Atlantis was a strange mix of sensation, almost as if he were seated at the center of a huge stadium with the battle raging outside the windowless Control Chair room projected on a large jumbo-tron in front of him. In his periphery were the confused jumbles of Atlantis's systems that were constantly in flux and flowing around him like a crowd of crazed football fans.

The Daedalus was in trouble. He could sense that almost immediately through his connection with Atlantis and Woolsey's voice filled his ear.

"Fire! Fire! Fire on all Hives!" he cried, "Bring them all down!" and John was all too happy to oblige.

Focusing all his efforts on the battle playing out in his mind, John went after the Hives targeting the Daedalus first. The 304 Class vessel was defending herself as best she could, Asgaard weapons cutting through the Wraith fighters swarming her, but she wasn't targeting the larger Hives. John nearly hailed Woolsey again to ask why the ship was behaving so strangely, but his mind was pulled to other areas of Atlantis as the Wraith began pummeling the city's shields with everything they had. Carson in the chair down at Area 51 came to the rescue to make quick work of them though and John focused his attention back on getting the Daedalus out of trouble. The vessel was severely damaged, but managed to somehow limp out of the thick of it and John maneuvered the city between the advancing hordes and the retreating ship in the nick of time.

Daedalus safely shielded behind the city for the moment, John began a ruthless attack on the surrounding Hives, targeting hyper drives first before finishing them off with a barrage of drones. As each one disintegrated into nothingness against the glowing blue backdrop of Earth, John voiced a name in his head. Ronon, then Teyla, then every other person he could recall losing their lives to the vampiric race that was the Wraith. Carson was getting in his fair share of direct hits as well and the space around Earth was alight with the orange glow of angry drones and exploding ships. The sheer tactical advantage Atlantis provided was keenly felt and John could sense the exact moment the Wraith realized they were about to be obliterated and turned to run. He relished the feeling as he destroyed their hyper drives to leave them floating vulnerable in the vacuum of space as Carson finished them off with a volley from Earth below. They were doing it. They were actually fucking doing it! And he nearly whooped as the last Hive finally broke apart under their combined efforts.

Cheers broke out in the control chair room and John was surprised that the comms device in his ear had stayed quiet. Woolsey wasn't even coming over to at least say something about the victory. Not that he needed to hear anything the man would say. Seeing those bastards get wiped out was all the reward John needed and he sent a silent prayer up for the friends that had lost their lives to get him to this moment. Ronon and Teyla had been avenged, but his celebration was cut short a moment later as he sensed some danger near Earth. A Hive, half blasted apart but still managing to limp forward somehow, was entering the Earth's atmosphere. He didn't know if it was some last desperate attempt by the dying Wraith inside to inflict more damage on Earth by crashing the massive ship into her, or just the result of the planet's gravity field pulling the disabled Hive in, but he wasn't about to let the Wraith destroy anything else. He eased Atlantis forward into the atmosphere to give chase, hanging back to see if the exosphere would just break the damaged ship apart for him. It was already starting to, but thoughts of dead friends had him sending out a drone or two just for good measure. He watched on in satisfaction when they finally impacted the hull of the ship and the last of the Wraith were destroyed.

It was truly over and John let out a strangled breath just as someone burst into the room.

"John! Stop!"

He looked up. "Rodney?"

"John, you've got to stop!"

"McKay, relax. It's over. The last..."

"No, you don't understand!"

"McKay?"

"John, stop! There are _people_ on those ships!"

"Rodney, what the hell are you talking about?" John questioned, brow creasing as he watched Carson Beckett push himself into the room and lock the door behind him on a group of advancing Marines. Their pounding continued on outside.

"What the fuck is going on?" He demanded. "And what the hell are you doing here, Carson?" John sat up in the control chair, the techs in the room with him huddled in a confused group near their instrument panels.

"John, haveya destroyed all the Wraith Hives?" Carson asked, coming up on the little elevated platform to capture both of John's shoulders in his hands. There was terror in the doctor's eyes.

"This is verra important, lad!" Carson yelled, shaking him as John stared up, speechless. He'd never, in all the years he'd known Carson Beckett, ever seen the doctor behave like this.

"Yeah, Beckett," he answered defensively. "Me and you just blasted the last of them out of the sky. Or at least I had assumed that was you. What the hell is going on here, Carson?"

"John, the Wraith havenea only just arrived on Earth, they've been here for days! I'd been tryin' to fight them off, but they'd started _culling_ lad. Those Hives were full of _people_!"

John's heart very nearly stopped beating in his chest.

He blinked back stupidly between Carson and Rodney: one face painted red in anger and the other taken over by saucer wide eyes filled to the brim with terrible understanding.

The very air was sucked out of the room and John swayed in his seat as his axis shifted.

Those Hives were full of people... He'd shot them all out of the sky...

"How many?" he asked with a voice he hardly recognized as his own.

"Too many to count," Carson replied with no emotion.

"Sir?" One of the techs came over beside them and Carson's hands fell away from John's arms, the places he'd been gripping still stinging and bruises from his fingers already forming. John looked straight ahead, eyes seeing nothing as he forced his brain to inspect this odd thing that Carson had just given him. This weird little piece of information he couldn't quite get himself to comprehend the enormity of just yet.

"Colonel Sheppard? We're losing altitude, Sir. We need you to reengage thrusters," but it was all of it just a jumble in his head.

The hives had been on Earth for days, had begun _culling_. And the Daedalus knew. That's why they hadn't been firing on the hives, just the Darts attacking them.

They knew.

...But not John.

"...He told me to fire," he said, not really caring that he didn't know if he said it out loud or not.

"Colonel Sheppard, please! We need you to take control of the City. She's losing altitude."

John turned towards the tech addressing him. "Woolsey didn't tell me."

"Sir?"

Well he was no help. John turned his eyes back to Carson who was staring at the floor as his shoulders shook.

"You're lying, right?

Tell me you're lying Carson, because if you're not then that means Richard Woolsey just ordered me to kill every single human being aboard those ships." Carson raised red rimmed eyes to meet John's dumbfounded gaze and a lone tear tracked its way through other paths already dug there as he nodded.

"You're lying."

"I'm so verra sorry, lad. I tried ta get back in time ta warn ye." Carson's brogue was thick, like it always got when he was upset. "Landry's dead and tha IOA's apparently gon' mahd." A blast at the door behind Rodney and Carson rocked the room and everyone inside gasped. Woolsey was saying something in John's ear but he plucked the comms device from his ear and crushed it beneath his boot. Woolsey's cries cut off instantly.

"Colonel Sheppard, please, if you don't take back control of the city soon, we're going to crash." His tech was back, tugging on the sleeve of his uniform and John pulled his eyes away from the devastated faces of McKay and Beckett to stare at the scientist whose name he didn't even know. But he would know the names of those he let die... He would seek them out and brand each one of them on his very skin so he could carry forever the names of the dead.

Murderer. That was what they would call him now. He'd taken the lives of countless people, there wasn't even a number for him yet, but he could feel their hands grasping at him for rescue, just like Ronon and Teyla. Something big and ragged opened up in his chest, spilling bits and pieces of him all over the floor of the Control Chair room and John Sheppard bent forward trying to wrap his arms around himself enough to keep at least a little bit of himself inside.

"Sir, please! Atlantis! You're going to kill us all, too!" Either Rodney or Carson gasped and John dragged his eyes up from the floor to stare at the... kid before him. He couldn't be more than 20.

"He's right John," McKay said, coming out of whatever shock he'd been lost in. "We're going to crash unless you get the city under control."

Hands pushed him back into the chair. Someone grabbed his wrists and forced his palms down on the pads of the chair. The city instantly reconnected with his mind and warned of the imminent impact. They were over the San Francisco Bay and with his friends yelling at him to stop Atlantis' beeline for the bay, he focused what little sanity he had left on trying to coast her into the water.

But it was no use.

What he had done pulled his concentration away and he could do little more than slow the city's decent...

"BRACE FOR IMPACT!" Somebody screamed, and John was forced up and out of the control chair a moment later as Atlantis crashed into the waters of the San Francisco Bay.

Chaos erupted. Bodies and debris were thrown everywhere, but it wasn't as bad as it could have been. Not as terrible as it would have been had John not been able to slow the city or if she hadn't been equipped with inertial dampeners.

John landed hard on the floor beside one of the consoles and smoke began filling the room from somewhere unseen. People were screaming and alarms clanged out at him as sight and sound slowly penetrated his addled brain. Fire erupted from the workstation he had been thrown against and John pulled an unconscious scientist away from it before his uniform could catch fire. The lights went out on them next but small fires and electrical sparks from the busted panels still managed to illuminate the room as John pulled himself up onto unsteady legs. He coughed hard on the smoke invading his lungs and something stung at his side when he breathed, but he just put an absentminded hand over it and stumbled forward into the melee. He needed to find Rodney and Carson and make sure they were okay. He made his way across the chaos, tripping and groping as best he could in the flickering semi-darkness and finally spotted them huddled near the door to the control room trying to pry it open and when John reached them, they finally managed it.

"You guys okay?" He coughed as they all backed up and several unconscious Marines tumbled into the doorway. Carson bent to check pulses.

"What do you think?" Rodney rounded on John, panic evident on the astrophysicist's soot streaked face. "You just crashed landed the city into the San Francisco bay!"

" _Rodney_! Tha's not helping right now!" Carson jumped in before McKay could say more and John broke a little under the look the scientist gave him next. Fuck, this was all his fault.

"We're okay, John," Carson promised, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Aren't we, Rodney?" but the scientist looked away. "I said, _'aren't we'_ Rodney!" and McKay offered a terse nod back before heading off to help herd those could walk from the room.

"But are you, laddie?" Carson asked suddenly over the alarms still sounding, pulling John's hand away from his side. The palm came back soot covered but it wasn't enough to hide the red. He was bleeding.

Carson's hand shot out to lift the hem of his shirt to have a look, but John stopped him with a grip on the doc's wrist and shook his head. "We need to get to the Gateroom!" John yelled over the alarms still clanging away in a cacophony of sound so loud and dissonant he almost wanted to put his hands over his ears to get it to stop, "figure out what's damaged and help get people out of the city!" Carson gave him a reproachful look.

"I'm fine, Carson! I promise, but we need to make sure the city is secure!"

"He's right, Carson." Rodney chimed in, rejoining them. "We need to get to the Gateroom!" Carson reluctantly took back the hand John was still holding at the wrist but nodded his agreement and the three men took off towards the Stargate.

The halls of Atlantis were teaming with the injured and trapped. John, Carson and Rodney constantly had to halt their progress towards the Gateroom to stop and help someone pull free of a collapsed bit of equipment, or track down more hands to help move those they came across who couldn't walk. It was slow and arduous work but eventually they reached the wrecked and ragged Gateroom and spotted it's one lone inhabitant. Richard Woolsey stood alone amid the wreckage with his back to them, staring out over the calm waters of the San Francisco bay through broken windows. When he heard someone approach, he turned, and as his eyes landed on John, the alarms cut off suddenly and the silence that followed was so loud, it rang in their ears.

For a while in the corridor John had imagined that Woolsey had just been a pawn, that he'd had no real knowledge of the fact that the Wraith had begun culling the Earth before Atlantis had arrived, but the look on the man's face as he turned said it all. Richard Woolsey knew exactly what he had just ordered John to do.

"Colonel Sheppard..." he started but John put up a blackened hand to stop him.

"What did you _do_ , Woolsey?" he asked dangerously, voice going low. Rodney and Carson shifted behind him.

"We had no choice," Woolsey pleaded, wringing his hands and John leapt forward.

Had he been in control of all his faculties in that moment, he might have made it all the way. The one thing that saved Richard Woolsey that day was the fact that John Sheppard was an exhausted, grieving, mess. Carson and Rodney managed to catch both of his arms and halted his progress before he could get near enough to beat the ever living shit out of the cowering bastard stumbling back and away from him as John shifted from denial right into anger.

"Sheppard, stop!" Rodney pleaded, holding on for dear life as John struggled and growled in anger. "There are people that need to get off the ship, John. We'll get what we need and make them pay, but not now." Rodney increased his grip as John fought again to throw him off. "Come on, John! Use your head. Another day, when we're ready for it and you're not in danger of murdering someone in cold blood!"

That was the word that finally stopped him. John had murdered enough people that day and he made himself quit fighting and look over at Rodney. He wasn't expecting to see calm kindness behind his friend's eyes, not after the control chair room earlier when he had seen blame flash across them, and he stilled.

"That's better. Now you're going to go with Carson and help everyone get out safely. I'll go work on securing the city and get us the data we need, okay?" When did their roles suddenly reverse? In what universe was Rodney McKay the cool centered one while John went off like a firecracker with no regard for who was around to get singed when he went off.

He glanced over at Carson who was nodding. "Dare I say it, but I believe Rodney is right, Colonel Sheppard. We've got bigger problems to deal with right now than this _coward_." Carson spat the word.

John let his eyes settle back on Woolsey who was actually starting to snivel. He stepped forward, the grips on his arms tightening, but one look to McKay and Carson and they seemed to understand. Both men stepped released him but remained close behind to hover nervously.

John took another step forward. Woolsey backpedaled and tripped over a piece of debris, falling to the floor.

"If I ever see your face again, Richard," he sneered, kneeling down and ignoring the hot pull of pain at his side, "I will kill you. And that goes for every member of the IOA and military who decided that it was better to murder our own people today then try to come up with a better solution.

You lied to me, you son of a bitch, and I will never forget what happened here today. The world's gonna know what you made me do, what every single one of you assholes made me do..." he choked. "...and I won't rest until you hang, Woolsey. I can promise you that." He straightened, turned on his heal, and let the sounds of the weeping man disappear behind him as he left the tattered remains of the Gateroom. When he got outside into the hallway, John rested a hand against a nearby wall for support and let his breath out on a ragged sob that he just couldn't make stop.

But he didn't shed tears - there would be time enough for that later - but he did start to shake as his soul finally absorbed and acknowledged what exactly he had just done. The number of hives he'd destroyed... there had to have been millions of people on them.

John let his head fall.

It hadn't been done consciously or with malice, but he had been responsible for mass murder today and all he could think to ask was: why? _Why_ hadn't anyone stopped him. _Why_ had Woolsey ordered him to fire? With one word the supposed leader of Atlantis could have stopped it all, but he hadn't. The system worked because they trusted each other and John had put his faith in that man, given his absolute loyalty, and had been utterly betrayed for it.

 _Betrayed._ The word sat dark and heavy in his mind.

John pulled his hand away from the wall to form it into a fist then slammed it into the metal panel in front of him with all the force of his wrath. Knuckles cracked. Pain exploded out of his hand and John let out a bellow that hollowed him out and had Rodney and Carson crowding in around him instantly. He put his palms against the wall he'd just tried to punch through and tried to breathe through the pain.

"John, you must keep it together now, lad." Carson pleaded beside him. "We cannae do this without ya!"

He was coming apart at the seams but Carson's desperate pleas for help seemed to be what he needed to pull the threads tight again. There wasn't time to think about what he had just been betrayed into doing. The members of the Atlantis team were in this mess because of him and he needed to pull himself back together and help get them out of it.

"Alright," John said through gritted teeth as he pushed himself away from the wall. "Rodney, you head back in there and do what you can to save any information there is on what happened and who's behind it. Scan the city if you can and radio Major Lorne if you see anything that poses an immediate threat. Hopefully I can track down a working earpiece by then. Carson, you and I will head to the Jumper Bay to start helping with the injured and getting people off the city. We can use the Jumpers if we need to."

"Right," both men said at once, marshaling behind him instantly, and it nearly pulled a smile from John.

They were all of them beat to hell. A red slash was painted down Rodney's face from a head wound hidden behind his receding hairline. Carson was trying unsuccessfully to hide a limp and protecting his ribs with a hand and they were each of them covered from head to toe in grey soot from the fires that had broken out all over the city after the crash. They were the ragged remnants of a once proud and powerful team, but even the ever pessimistic Rodney McKay was looking over at John squarely with his jaw set in determination and John knew in that moment there were no two people in all the world that he'd rather have by his side in that moment. If only Ronon and Teyla had been with them.

"Let's meet by the east pier in an hour. Will that give you enough time Rodney?" The scientist's baleful eyes met his and John nodded. "Okay then, let's go.

Oh, and Rodney?" He said to McKay as the scientist turned to leave.

Rodney craned his neck and looked back over his shoulder. "Good luck and try to be careful."

McKay's face broke out into a wide grin, his white teeth a stark contrast against his cracked and soot darkened lips. "But I'm always careful John," and turned on his heels without another look back.

Something twinged in the center of him as he watched McKay walk away and for one brief moment he nearly called out to his friend to draw him back. For the first time in his life his gut was telling him that he might never see the man again and his throat tightened with the urge to call out. But he didn't and followed Carson down a different corridor as Rodney disappeared back into the Gateroom.

It didn't take long for doctor to get caught up in some medical emergency and John separated from him awhile later. He called over his shoulder that he would be in the Jumper Bay helping coordinate the rescue efforts and cursed himself for having crushed his comms device under his boot in the control chair room earlier. He would have to track another one down, and quickly.

John made his way towards the Jumper Bay and when he finally walked through the automatic doors a few minutes later, supporting an injured civilian on one arm, he found it a hive of frenetic activity. Atlantis' disaster plan dictated that all wounded were to be brought to the bay to be removed by Jumper if the Gateroom was not available and John was glad to see the sure signs of ordered chaos. He'd trained his men well and while the scientists flung themselves about in a panic, he could sense the calm undercurrent of his men keeping everything from falling apart.

John handed the woman he'd stopped to help in the corridor off to a couple of people who knew her and Major Evan Lorne rushed up to greet him.

"Sheppard, we've been trying to reach you for almost an hour!" His 2nd in command barked and John let the breach in decorum slide.

"Status Major," he shot right back and Lorne recovered a little to fall back into his normal cool.

"No casualties to report that we've been informed of so far, Sir. We've got mostly bumps and bruises though there are a few who are critical. Those have been loaded onto Jumper One and have been evacuated to the mainland. Stargate Command has been notified of the crash and I've been informed that help is on its way. When yourself and Mr. Woolsey couldn't be contacted by radio I assumed command, Sir."

"Good work, Major, and keep doing what you're doing. I want all the wounded secured first then we can start getting all uninjured and nonessential personnel off Atlantis."

"Very good, Colonel Sheppard," Lorne said as he stiffened, saluting John before leaving and John returned it with one of his own. Evan Lorne was one of those rare soldiers who actually got better under pressure, if that was even possible, and John would have to remember to thank the man when all this was over for keeping such a level head.

John walked past the soot smeared faces of the people waiting to leave and tried not to let the anxiety that was slowly starting to grow at his center eat away at him completely. He was responsible for this... he'd let Atlantis crash into the bay because he couldn't get his damn mind to focus right and stop it before people got hurt. And from the look of things, no one had gotten any real warning that Atlantis was about to crash and that was on him. Shit, how had it come to this? But the only explanation his brain would give, was Woolsey. Woolsey must have cut him off from all radio communication. That was the only reason he could think of as to why no one had been screaming at him about the Hive ships stuffed full of human beings that he was blasting out of the sky.

John shook his body to dislodge those thoughts. He needed to keep his head if he was going to get them all through this and his next priority, now that he was sure the wounded and all nonessentials were being taken care of, was to find Rodney again and try to ascertain how much damage had been done to the city and if there was any imminent danger to the remaining people trapped aboard. Those were his duties and he wouldn't shirk them like others had done that day. The only thing was, he was going to have to go back to the Gateroom to do that and he could only hope that Richard Woolsey had run from it like sniveling bastard he was... because John Sheppard was going to keep his promise. He made his way back through the city, stopping anyone he came across to ask if they knew where Zelenka and his team were. If Rodney wasn't working on securing the city, then Zelenka would be and he couldn't remember where he'd seen the man last that day. The Gateroom main floor was empty but there were a few marines on the upper level putting out a fire that had started near the dialing device, but no sign of Radek. One of the Marines suggested he try the control chair room as most of the Gateroom team had headed in that direction to try and gain access to the city's mainframe again through the control chair and John hastily made his way back in that direction. When he arrived, the Czech was there and standing over the smoking remains of a wrecked work station muttering irritably in his native tongue.

"Zelenka!" John called out, but the name never fully formed on his lips, not really. Hearing at least part of his name called, the Czech began to lift his eyes, his gaze about to land on John even through the thick smoke still hanging about in the room like wisps of low hanging cloud. An explosion ripped through the center of the floor and the force of it hurtled John backwards and into the wall behind him. His head impacted the wall heavily. Bright white lights exploded in front of his eyes and the left side of his body went numb as he crashed to the floor.

Somehow, and he would always wonder how he'd managed to pull it off, John remained conscious and watched as the center of the room imploded inward and swallowed Zelenka and his team down into its gaping maw. He cried out and reached, trying desperately to lurch his unresponsive body forward so he could grab at the hands scrabbling for hold on the tilting floor. But something white hot and greedy stole the breath right out of him and John closed his eyes as the hands fell away. Someone bounded into the room soon after, but all John could see of them when he forced his eyes back open were the pair of black combat boots the figure wore.

"Colonel Sheppard? Oh Jesus!" The figure knelt beside him. "Major Lorne, Lieutenant Stackhouse here. The explosion was in the Control Chair room, Sir. Colonel Sheppard is injured." John made his tired eyes look up at the young solider kneeling beside him in full combat gear. Did he say injured? Stackhouse looked over at him then turned away, but John didn't miss the "it's bad, sir," that the young airman said into his earpiece.

The world slid out of focus and John felt the air in his lungs catch and then stop all together.

John Sheppard had almost died before, but never like this. He'd never been on the verge of it and still conscious enough to feel when a mouth covered his and oxygen was forced back into his lungs. He'd never been aware before as hands pushed down on his sternum to try and talk his poor heart into beating again, but he was this time. John put every last bit of himself into refilling his lungs and after a few unknowable minutes when he'd nearly lost the battle, he somehow managed to pull in a heaving breath when the shriveled things that he used to call lungs actually listened to the order. He sputtered and coughed and the hands that had been giving him CPR stopped to help him roll over. The pain the movement ignited in his side was unimaginable, but John didn't let it carry him away into oblivion. He held onto it and forced his eyes to open. Half his line of sight had been invaded by black dots but he could still make out Stackhouse leaning over him as he was rolled again, hands reaching out to cover something at his side and only making the pain worse. He made to move out from under those hands, but Stackhouse shushed him.

"Colonel Sheppard, hush. Lie still, Sir, you're badly injured."

"Zelenka?" He managed to choke out and Stackhouse's brow creased before he realized what John was asking. The Lieutenant cast his eyes around the room then shook his head sadly.

"I don't see him sir."

"Need you... to do me... a favor, Stackhouse," he heaved, oxygen becoming more and more difficult to pull in as his body prepared to shut itself back down again. The young Lieutenant's eyes went wide.

"Help's on the way, Colonel. Please don't try to talk." but John had things to say; things that other people needed to know.

"There were..." he swallowed back something metallic and tried again. "There were ... people on th-the Hives," he managed and Stackhouse's eyes careened away from John's wounds and back to his face to stare at him thunderstruck. "Make sure... people know."

"I will sir," the young Lieutenant stammered as he nodded.

"I'm sorry..." but John couldn't go on anymore. He let the tension go out of his body just as Carson Beckett arrived with a team of EMT's.

"We're here!" the doctor called, stumbling into the room and when John met the docs gaze as he glanced down, all the color left Carson's face.

"Bloody hell," he said to no one in particular and collapsed to his knees on the floor bedside John.

He watched the rest of it pass by him as if in slow motion and time had a funny way of flowing over him after that. John figured a lot of it had to do with the slight pinprick of pain he felt at the crook of his elbow, or rush of icy relief as pain medication flooded his system, but he was having a hard time making his focus stay centered. Time passed him by so fast at times he lost whole minutes to the chaos going on around him and in the next moment, it seemed as if he'd spent whole hours living just one second of agony.

John was lying on the cold floor of the ruined control chair room and he had nothing left to fight with against the realizations that came at him in the confusing calm of the pain meds. With no purpose, no task to complete to occupy his mind anymore... that was when it began to creep in: that little voice inside his head that he'd never given credence to before, but that was whispering to him now. And the things it had to say were terrible.

_"You killed them all."_

_"You crashed the city into the bay and now more people are going to die."_

_"You couldn't save any of them."_

"Colonel Sheppard?" Carson's face swam into focus. "John?"

He'd lost track of time. He was on a gurney outside, heading down one of the long fingers of the city and towards the Jumper landing site at the end of it. Carson Beckett was clutching at his hand for dear life and any other time John would have been embarrassed by the gesture, but he found he could not pull the hand away.

"Stay with us now, lad," the doc said sadly and John wondered if there was even a reason to.

"Rodney?" He rasped from behind an oxygen mask someone had put over his face and Carson lifted a duffel from the gurney beside him.

"John, I need you ta listen to me. Are you listening ta me? " the doc ordered as they neared the swirling blades of a Medevac helicopter and the EMT's surrounding him left for a moment. He pulled his wandering gaze away from the memorizing swirl of the blades above him to focus back on Carson.

"Are ya listening' to me, laddie. This is verra important," the doctor pleaded again and John tried to clear his cotton filled thoughts enough to absorb what he was being told. Carson kept glancing over his shoulder but finally leaned in close to John.

"I dunnea think they're going to let me come along wit' ya. John, I've put what Rodney could could pull from the computers in your duffel and there's another drive hidden in your uniform. Whatever happens, git yourself somewhere safe then meet me at... OY! Get your bloody hands off me!"

Something was happening. Carson was pulled away forcibly and John's hand was ripped from the doctor's grip.

"Get him out of here!" An unfamiliar voice barked and the EMTs appeared beside him again to begin loading John into the back of the helicopter.

He put everything he had left behind trying to lift his head, but his body wasn't responding. It was numb from blood loss and unresponsive to his pleas to just get off the stretcher and help the friend he could hear fighting with someone just outside the helicopter door. John turned his head slowly, the tall spires of Atlantis visible through the hatch that was still open beside him and he searched again for Carson. A Sergeant he'd never seen before darkened the helicopter door and pulled himself inside, admonishing the EMT that tried to tell him to get out sternly before leveling his malevolent eyes at John. It was that gaze that sent understanding flooding through his already muddled mind.

He got it then.

John flicked desperate eyes back out the door, frantically seeking Carson, his last line of defense against the man who'd likely been sent to shut John up for good... but Carson was being held back bodily by two burly MP's who each had an arm around him, holding him back. The doctor was fighting, bellowing even, one hand getting free to reach towards John even as the helicopter door was slammed shut on him.

The black hawk lifted from the ground and John Sheppard's world fell apart.


	14. A Reprieve

John Sheppard didn't get much sleep that night after visiting Atlantis again for the first time in years. As dawn awoke on the horizon over Colorado and stretched its pale blue and purple fingers eastward and towards Cheyenne mountain, he was still sitting on the edge of his bed, contemplating the hands he had resting open and palm up against his thighs.

John's hands had been carrying a lot for a long time and looking down at them, he was almost surprised to find them empty. He half expected to see little bits of the past sticking to the sides of the tiny crevices and indentations of his palms, but they were empty. There were just the ubiquitous lines and scars that any pair of normal hands should have, crisscrossed by the highways and byways that were supposedly supposed to map his past and predict his future. John had never been one to believe in psychics or divination, but he found himself wondering just what a Palm Reader might glean from the network of life lines and marriage lines and whatever other lines that carved shallow trenches in the flesh of his hands.

For as long as John had held so much in those palms, Fitzpatrick sure was making quick work of making sure it all slipped through the spaces between his fingers and for once, that metaphor was a good thing. The things he let drip from his palms like water were meant to be let go, though sharing everything that had happened both before and after the crash with Fitzpatrick had broken open old wounds in the process. Scar tissue too, and scar tissue that had run deep, and John felt hollow almost. They were old wounds he'd been able to (mostly) exist with for at least the past 10 years or so in his exile, but now he was being expected to rip open each one again in turn and inspect them. Well, not just inspect them, but open them wide for everyone to see and poke around inside of them with blunt fingertips... and everyone was expecting him to do it, it seemed.

John had one more day of ordered rest to get through and he glanced away from his hands to make plans in his head about what he would do with this last day since there would be no getting back to sleep now. He had a feeling Fitzpatrick was going to expect as much from him physically as he was emotionally when they finally got back to the training part of all this and he was eager to focus on that for a change. He understood that he needed to deal with all the crap surrounding what had happened in the past and that it would take time and effort on his part to achieve that, but why did every day have to be a new lesson in torture? Didn't they realize he'd only just arrived? That it had been mere _days_ since he'd been living a secluded life in rural Wisconsin near a river that was too fast and in a cabin with no electricity? Rodney, Carson, Lorne... all of them had been back for quite awhile and knew what was expected of them and it was as if they were eager to get him back to the man he used to be as soon as possible regardless of the consequences. He guessed he could take some comfort from the fact that Fitzpatrick had a psychology degree so at least he knew what he was doing, but John still felt pulled in too many different directions. He wasn't even sure that man his old friends seemed to be expecting to show up any day now, even existed anymore. He was buried too deep beneath all those layers of scar tissue that John's hands just might not be capable of breaking through.

John flexed the hands still lying open on his legs and felt the familiar tingle of his ATA gene. It always made his hands feel like they were on the verge of falling asleep and there must have been a piece of ancient technology somewhere nearby. Probably over in one of the science labs or maybe even in Rodney's quarters. And speaking of Rodney, John added the scientist's name to his list of things to do for the day. An early morning meeting had been set for today first thing to go over what was happening with the ATA gene carriers and the investigation into the sabotage, but John wanted to sit Rodney down alone and finally have a serious conversation with the man about a few things. John had questions and he was going to pin that scientist down and make him talk whether he wanted to or not. Well, he guessed that really wasn't fair. McKay had not been avoiding him - by any means - and John was probably reading more into his silence about certain subjects than was needed, but the McKay of old had been a constant chatter box and this McKay had secrets that John was going to get to the bottom of.

Releasing a breath, John pulled himself up from the bed and abandoned any notions of sleep his tired body suggested. His mind was too preoccupied for sleep and he pulled on his running gear to head to the base gym and clear his mind a bit. His novelty had yet to wear off and he got a few errant looks from the early morning crews as he made his way, but there was no one on the track when he arrived up there a while later. And yet even with the threat of company looming, John let himself take his time. Gave his bad knee time to adjust to the renewed stress, and tried to focus on the feel of the physical sensations in his body, rather than the fodder his brain tried to provide. He wasn't even supposed to be running. Carson had given him strict orders to take it easy, but John just couldn't seem to function properly during the day if he didn't get in a good solid run in the mornings. His body craved the movement and the endorphins only helped his mood so he couldn't deny it the satisfaction of the track beneath his feet, the strands of some long forgotten rock song throbbing away in his ears as the rest of the world fell away for a while. Besides, after the emotional roller coaster he'd been on yesterday, John figured he was due some sort of private creature comfort. He'd also spent most of the rest of yesterday sequestered away in his quarters, so it was nice to get out and stretch his legs... literally.

Being on Atlantis again had taxed him in ways he'd forgotten he even could be. There was so much more to it than just stepping foot onto her docks and taking a tour of the hallways he'd once called home. There was the pull of the Ancient machines around him to contest with, too. Devices that constantly reached out and demanded not only his energy, but his conscious thought as well. John knew it was only a matter of getting used to those demands again, but it was as if Atlantis was expecting him to be the same man as he was before as well and she was unrelenting in her insistence that he connect with everything around him at all times. The whole effect had him feeling drained, and yet elated at the exact same moment, because as taxing as all those sensations were, he had been reunited with his city, and, in the end, that was all that mattered. He would take all of it, the good the bad and the ugly, if it meant he got to fly that ship home again and live out the rest of his days on Atlantis where he belonged.

Oh man, was that resignation he was feeling? The beginnings of forgiveness and acceptance, perhaps? Who knew it would take a trip to the San Francisco bay to finally get him to the point where he could possibly entertain those ideas.

Landry and the SGC were giving him purpose again and John was only ever at his best when he had purpose. It was in the meandering , lingering times when he really got himself into trouble, and wasn't that just what he had been doing for the past 20 years? Meandering? The Sergeant the people after him had sent to kill him that day had failed in his mission to end John's existence, but it had been John who had let it end his life.

And speaking of his would be assassin, it still bothered him that he'd never been able to figure out why he was spared, Or why, when he finally woke up in that hospital room all alone and registered under a fake name he had no recollection of devising, there was no sign of the man that had been sent to make sure he kept his mouth shut for good. Mr. Evans. That's what the nurses had called him, and John added Evan Lorne's name to the quickly growing to-do list in his mind. If the newly minted Colonel Lorne had been involved somehow in making sure John made it out of that hospital alive, he wanted to know about it.

John finished his laps around the elevated track and stopped near the staircase heading down to the lower level to stretch and cool down. His body was a world of hurt and he'd perhaps pushed himself a bit more than he should have, but it was a good kind of hurt. The kind that reminded John that he was still very much alive and he winced even as he smiled. The people around him might be demanding too much of him too soon when it came to what happened in his past, but physically, he felt ready for anything Fitzpatrick or Atlantis could throw at him. He was whole and healthy in body after a little help from Carson, so maybe the task of healing those hurts that Beckett would never be able to pull up on any scan, _was_ possible.

John made his way down to the showers feeling lighter than he had in a week. He was reminded again of how much _space_ there was inside of him now that he wasn't so busy carrying around the weight of heavy memories he'd felt obligated to hold onto for 20 years. Those responsible for ordering him to end two billion lives were gone now, other people knew what had been done and were not ostracizing him for it, but instead, welcoming him back with open arms. He still had the guilt of the lives lost when he had dropped off the grid, but even that was beginning to break apart a little under the relentless insistence by Carson Beckett that it wasn't his fault. Maybe that was the secret to it then? Keep pounding it into his brain until he finally accepted it. Fitzpatrick seemed to be the expert at that, so maybe that was next in the weird program they'd started to get John back up to the task of leading an entire expedition.

"Good morning General Sheppard," a cheery young lieutenant greeted him as he made his way back to his bunk and he gave the passing solider a small smile and a nod.

Damn... General Sheppard. Now that was something else that was going to take some getting used to. John still marveled at the fact that the SGC was offering him so much. Yeah, he got that they were desperate, that the main reason they were doing any of it was because he could fly Atlantis home, but it was still nice to know he was needed. In Blue River he'd done everything in his power _not_ to be needed so it was both a strange feeling and a terrifying one. People would be looking to him again to make the right choices, and half the people watching were probably expecting him to fail, but John was determined, now more than ever, to prove every last one of those bastards wrong.

He entered the conference room for the morning meeting a little while later with a determined gait and took a seat near Landry who was the only one in the room. He was rifling through a stack of papers and looked up at John over the thick glasses perched on the tip of his nose.

"Morning General Sheppard," he said, with none of the cheer of the woman from the hallway earlier and John could immediately see why. Landry had an autopsy report open in front of him and he flipped it shut as soon as John sat down. "How's everything going so far?"

It was a loaded question and John paused to think about his answer. He only had a guess as to the level of Landry's involvement in what had happened between him and Fitzpatrick the other day in the training room, or again on Atlantis just yesterday, and he didn't want to give the man cause to go poking around any further than he already had. There were enough people around John already who knew about what he had gone through, but the way Landry was looking at him said it all. The General already knew everything.

"Manageable, Sir," he answered and Landry's eyes lit up in that amused way John couldn't decide was interesting, or irritating as hell.

"How about the trip to Atlantis?" Landry asked over the rims of his glasses. "Was it helpful?"

"Sure. Walked around a bit, rustled up a few old ghosts. You know, the usual."

"I can't imagine that must have been easy, visiting the city after all this time."

"It was Manageable, Sir." He repeated and there was that look in Landry's eye again.

"You can dispense with the formalities, Sheppard. Call me Landry, or Hank, if you wish. I'm not one to usually stand on ceremony. Hell, call me Hankie if the muse descends. I hear that's what the new batch of recruits had named me since I started blubbering the other day during their orientation meeting. Though I have a feeling the origin of the nick name comes from our own Dr. McKay." Landry smiled as he said it and John got the feeling he was genuinely amused with the moniker.

And like he could sense they were talking about him, Rodney McKay appeared in the doorway a few seconds later.

"Sorry I'm late..." he started to apologize then around to realize John and Landry were the only two in the room. "I _am_ late, aren't I?" He glanced at his watch then lifted it to his ear. It must have stopped because the scientists started shaking his arm in an effort to restart it again as he took a seat at the conference table.

"I actually managed to beat you for once!" John ribbed over the table and Rodney shot him a scathing look.

"I suspect Colonel Lorne and Dr. Beckett will arrive momentarily," Landry offered. "And I've asked Sean Fitzpatrick to sit in as well. I hope you don't mind Sheppard."

"It doesn't bother me," he said, realizing that it really didn't. That kid was actually kind of starting to grow on him a little and he figured, after learning that his actions had robbed the man of his only family, the least John could do was tolerate his presence and let the former Seal help him get back up to par.

"You get any sleep last night?" Rodney asked John over the table a moment later after Landry went back to ignoring them and perusing his paperwork. "Because I sure didn't. I couldn't get that propulsion system leak out of my mind. Do you think if we had the engineers come at it..."

"Rodney!" John interrupted, putting up a hand, "Way too early for the geek speak, buddy."

"Alright, then you can explain it all to the IOA when we blow Atlantis out of the sky!" Rodney fired back and Landry looked up again.

"Excuse me?" He wasn't really being serious, but Rodney ducked his head all the same.

"Rodney here was just explaining to me how it's never too early for thermodynamics, General," John answered with a sly glance in McKay's direction and the scientist pulled a face. If he had an insult to lob back, he didn't get a chance to voice it, because Lorne and Carson arrived a moment later; Fitzpatrick following soon after.

As everyone settled into their respective chairs, a clear hierarchy became evident. Landry held the high place of honor at the head of the table with Rodney at his left and Carson, Lorne and then finally Fitzpatrick finishing out the line. John found himself seated alone on one side of the table and felt for a moment like was sitting before a board of directors about to pitch his case for a new direction the company should take. He knew it wasn't anything intentional, but it was funny to see how the men in the room regarded each other.

"Well, I guess I'll call this meeting to order." Landry spoke and everyone turned their heads towards him.

"Colonel Sheppard, I'm sure you must have questions about what's been going on. Are there any pressing ones you'd like us to address first?"

"I think you should just take me through it from the beginning," John replied thoughtfully. "That way maybe I can give you a fresh perspective on things if anything."

"That works for me," Landry agreed. "Colonel Lorne, why don't you take Sheppard through what you know so far."

"Stop me if you have any questions, okay?" Lorne preempted and John nodded.

"Ok, since you haven't started your seminars on the new USSF, I'll just kind of start from the beginning.

When the government finally pieced itself back together after The Great Culling, they wanted to start getting some of the more top secret programs back up and running. Since the Wraith were alien, their first priority had been the Stargate so we could reestablish our alliances in the Milky Way and beef up our defenses.

Atlantis was out of commission while she was being repaired after the crash. The USSF and the new members of the reformed IOA wanted us to start looking for people on earth who might have a strong ATA gene so that, should we not be able to locate you, we could still fly her back to Pegasus if the program progressed that far. We found a few people who were really promising. They had nowhere near the control that you had, but we had hoped that, given a little practice, they might be up to the task.

Anyway, we were working out of a facility near the Bay when the first accident happened about a year ago. A woman McKay had located in the Ukraine had just been brought on, but a few days after we set her up with an apartment in the city, her car was run off the road on her way home one night. She died in the hospital a few days later. At first we didn't think anything of it, people have accidents all the time, but then it happened a second time to another carrier and that one wasn't so pretty." John didn't miss the collective shudder that ran through the group.

"When our saboteur couldn't get the job done by running our guy off the road, he put a bullet in his head. Anders was a good guy with a family, we were all pretty shaken up after that one." Rodney and Carson nodded.

"After that it was pretty clear someone was targeting the gene carriers so we had the rest of them stay on base, but even that didn't help. Whoever it was managed to get into the facility and poison every last one of them. We set up a task force right after to investigate and try to get to the bottom of what was happening, but whoever was murdering the gene carriers knew how to cover their tracks. They didn't leave us anything to go on. No witnesses, no evidence, nothing, and, as much as I hate to admit it, we still have nothing. So, to protect the people we found next, we kept the knowledge that they even existed from everyone except for a select few, headquartered them in New York in the middle of the USSF and things have been quiet ever since."

"But they're on Atlantis now?"

"Yes, Sheppard," Landry answered. "We have the use of Cheyenne mountain again so they'll be living here and flown over to Atlantis on a need-be basis. But now that we have you back, they'll continue their work with the Ancient technology and helping get the city ready to fly. We will of course continue to give them the utmost level of protection." He finished on a promise that John suspected was aimed at him as well. He was, after all, the one with the target on his back.

"Do you think it's an inside job?" What had happened with the Wraith was like something out of a horror story and John could understand how someone within the SGC might have snapped and decided to take it upon themselves to stop the project dead in its tracks. The Atlantis Expedition was the reason the Wraith found Earth in the first place. Hell, even he'd thought about revenge over the years, though cold blooded murder wasn't really his style. Puppet to murder... well, now that was more like him.

"Most likely, or at least they had help from someone inside." It was Rodney who answered, pulling John from the thoughts that had suddenly gone dark, and he let his eyes settle on the scientist. "Otherwise how would they know who to target? The public knows that aliens came to Earth and took half the population, but the existence of the Stargate and Atlantis has never exactly been common knowledge. I mean, I'm sure someone must have leaked something after the war, but I think we would have heard about it, don't you? People usually riot first, sabotage later, don't they? My guess is that it's someone close to the project and most likely with ties to Atlantis."

"Dr. McKay brings up a good point. Lorne, has the task force completed the background checks on the new recruits and those still involved with the Stargate and Atlantis programs?" Landry asked.

Even pulled a sheet of paper from a folio he'd brought with him. "We've run checks on everyone working in the city and most of the officers in the mountain, but we still have a lot of work to do."

"Well, then I suggest that you make that your task force's main objective going forward, now that things have seemingly settled down. I believe you've also begun implementing your proposed security improvements on Atlantis?"

Lorne nodded. "We've beefed up security, installed the extra surveillance cameras and are planning out the check point system. Should be all up and running by the time General Sheppard is ready to take us back to Pegasus." Four pairs of eyes landed on him and he tried not to shift under the gazes.

"I'll get right on that," they all chuckled. "Have you thought about maybe setting a trap for your guy? Maybe we could use me as bait to lure him in somehow."

"I thought about that," Lorne answered, "but I don't think the IOA would go for it considering you're the only one we've got who can fly Atlantis at the moment."

"We could try finding a Marine who'd be willing to take on the risk," he suggested. "How about Fitzpatrick, here? He can handle himself in a fight." John joked, pointing at his still healing face and everyone hid a smile while Rodney full on sniggered and Fitzpatrick shook his head with a smirk.

"That actually might be an avenue worth pursuing should any further sabotage be attempted," Landry said, bringing them back to task. "But for now I believe the task force should continue to try and see if we have an internal issue here." Everyone nodded in agreement.

"Dr. Beckett, have you come a decision yet on if you will be continuing your ATA gene research or not? I think General Sheppard will share in my eagerness to continue that line of work if it means having another person available who can pilot Atlantis."

John could tell Carson had been caught off guard, but he swallowed hard and answered. "I havena decided just yet, Sir. But rest assured, I will soon."

"I'll hold you to that," Landry said, leveling a serious glance in Carson's direction before looking away to address them all.

"Well then gentlemen, if there are no more questions," Landry's eyes landed on John and he shook his head, "I have a video conference with the IOA scheduled and will need the room."

John rose from his seat with everyone else and shook Landry's hand before following everyone out into the hall. Lorne was held back by Landry but John didn't have time to wonder about why. His mind was too busy churning over the new info he'd learned, which wasn't much, and trying to connect dots when there weren't even any dots to work with. The person who had murdered the gene carriers was laying low for the time being, but that didn't mean they weren't still lurking and John had that big target on his back now. Everyone at the SGC knew he was the only one with the capabilities to fly Atlantis home and he would have to be very careful over the next few weeks to keep his guard up. He did take some comfort in the knowledge that he was in a secure facility and there was a task force in place to vet all the incoming new recruits and returning personnel, so at least he had other lines of defense bedsides his own two hands and the friends that surrounded him.

"See you tomorrow in the training facility, Sheppard?" Fitzpatrick asked, appearing at his side and nearly startling him.

"Oh. Yeah. What time?"

"0600? That's not too early for you is it?" The kid asked almost as a dare and John lifted his chin.

"0600 it is," he agreed and headed off after the retreating figure of Rodney McKay. "Hey, Rodney!" He called out and the scientist turned around to wait in the corridor for John to catch up.

"What's up? Did we miss something?"

"No, I was just wondering if you had a minute. There were some things I wanted to talk to you about."

"About the murders?"

"No... other stuff," he hinted and McKay's eyes widened.

"Oh..." John didn't think he'd go on, but he did. "Look, could we maybe do this some other time, Sheppard? I'm right in the middle of some equations for the new wormhole drive..."

"Oh come on, buddy. Give me five minutes. You owe me some answers."

Rodney heaved an melodramatic sigh and glanced at his watch, scowling at it a moment later when he remembered that it had stopped.

"Alright, but you'll have to come down to the lab with me. Some of us still have to work," he grumbled, and set off down the hall. John followed after him and the two made their way to the science wing located in a different part of the mountain and a few levels down.

"Actually, this will work out great," Rodney said a moment later over his shoulder. "Fitzpatrick and I were talking about you the other day after you went back to your bunk and there's someone I think you should see."

"Who?" John pressed, instantly intrigued, enough so that he let the fact that Fitzpatrick and Rodney had been discussing him lie for a moment. He racked his brain trying to think of what he had said to the former Seal and who it might be, but Rodney was shaking his head.

"You're just going to have to wait and see."

John followed Rodney the rest of the way through the SGC all the while wondering if he was really ready for more surprises. He had a feeling he was going to get plenty in the conversation he planned on having with McKay and now the scientist was promising even more revelation. John was amazed his brain hadn't crashed already with all the crap people kept hefting at him and it was only going to get worse. He stepped into the science area of the SGC a few minutes later, anticipating that 'worst', but it never came. In fact, the person he saw in front of him was enough to send half the apprehension that had been hanging around him all week, packing.

"Holy crap! I thought you were dead!" He practically bellowed when he entered the lab and a now elderly Radek Zelenka slid off a stool and grabbed a cane to hobble over and greet him. The scientist's hairline had receded considerably and the goatee he sported was salt and peppered, but his eyes were still as sharp as John remembered them. He shook the man's hand with an honest to God smile, nearly pulling him into a hug, and Rodney stepped back to watch it all.

"Well, as you can see, the rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated," Zelenka smiled back.

"I can see that."

"I'm so sorry we're only now getting to say hello! I was in Europe helping track down more people with the Ancient gene but of course, had I known you thought I was dead, I would have come and found you sooner!"

"How are you even alive?" John stammered with a mix of awe and disbelief that nearly set Zelenka to laughing at him.

For 18 years he had been carrying Radek Zelenka's name around with him in that space around his heart where he kept all the names of the dead. Lifting it out to cast it away was like lifting a stone out of the bags tied around his ankles before walking out into the water: a reprieve of some kind.

"Well, after that explosion... I was okay," Zelenka explained. "All of us were actually. I lost my leg at the knee, but other than that, no permanent damage."

"This is insane! When I saw you all fall... I thought, I mean I was sure you..."

"Nope!" Zelenka smiled brightly with a shake of the head. "We all made it out. And besides, someone needed to stick around to keep Rodney's ego in check."

"Hey!" Rodney huffed. "I'm standing right here!"

"I'm sorry to hear about the leg," John offered, ignoring Rodney's irritation, and Zelenka waived a hand at him.

"Don't you go worrying about that, Colonel... Oh, pardon me, General Sheppard! I heard about the promotion by the way, congratulations."

"Thanks." He had a sneaky suspicion that Zelenka had tacked on that last part on purpose to throw off his apology. "So what have you been up to all these years?"

"I stayed with the SGC, actually. A lot of people left after what happened but we were doing good work here and I didn't want to abandon it."

"Yeah, good work if you don't mind never being able to publish and getting labeled a washout by your peers..."

Zelenka ignored the muttered comment from Rodney.

"I've got to say, General Sheppard, it's a real relief knowing you're back," Radek said genuinely and John was at a loss over what to say next. Thankfully, Rodney saved him.

"Oh give me a break. If you two old farts are finished with your little reunion, do you think you could clear the lab for me Radek? Sheppard wants to _talk_." John didn't miss Rodney's irritated emphasis on the last word.

"Sure thing, Rodney," the other scientist agreed but not before rolling his eyes when McKay looked away. He shook hands with John again.

"Let's talk again soon."

When the room had finally cleared and Zelenka shut the door behind him, John looked over at Rodney who was sitting on a high stool in front of a laptop typing away furiously with his back to John. He had a lot to ask about, and not all of it was going to be easy if Rodney's reaction was going to be the same as that day on the road at the gas station. He let out a quiet sigh and walked over to where Rodney was sitting. The scientist kept his back to John and didn't acknowledge him.

"I want to know about Torren John," he started and the clack of McKay's fingertips against the computer keys stilled.

"Not pulling any punches, aren't we?" Rodney mumbled sarcastically and went back to typing.

"Come on McKay," John pushed. "What happened with him?"

Rodney paused again and John pulled up another stool to take a seat beside the scientist. Rodney swiveled a little in his own chair and rested an elbow on the worn formica counter top before starting.

"Don't ask me how we got on the subject, but Teyla and I started talking about Torren one night before the Super Hive incident. She was asking me all these questions about Earth and talking about how she didn't want her son to have to grow up under the constant threat of the Wraith. She even wanted me to go talk to Woolsey for her and ask for permission for Torren and Kanaan to relocate to Earth if anything were to ever happen to her and, well, we all know what happened next. " John nodded, trying not to let the memories resurface.

"Anyway, a little while after they died, Kanaan came to me, said he couldn't deal with being on Earth and away from his people any longer but that he wanted to honor Teyla's wishes about where her son grew up. We found a couple who was willing to take him in, and he's been living here ever since." Rodney finished with a shrug

"But we destroyed all the Wraith. Why didn't Kanaan take Torren with him when he went back?"

"Well for one, we don't know for sure that all the Wraith have been destroyed. We got all the ones that came to Earth, sure, but who's to say there isn't some faction still out there that didn't receive the subspace transmission. It's not like we could fly Atlantis back and check. Only the Daedalus has been back since and that was once to drop off some people who had been living in the city at the time and wanted to go back home. But even then it was only a quick stop to a planet on the outermost edges of Pegasus that happened to have a Stargate.

...Then there was the fact that Kanaan was pretty shaken up over Teyla's death and I don't think he was too keen on the idea of being a single father."

"So he just left him?" John asked incredulously, eyebrows raising up and chasing after his hairline.

"He left him." Rodney replied and glanced away.

"Is that why you were so reluctant to tell me all of this, McKay?"

"Well, no. There's more to it, of course. When has anything in my life ever been easy?"

"What do you mean?"

Rodney sighed. "Look Sheppard, if I tell you this next part you gotta keep it to yourself, okay?"

"Who am I gonna tell, Rodney? Honestly."

"Good point... " he snorted, rubbing at the back of his neck with a palm. "Okay, so according to all official records, Torren John Emmagan returned to Pegasus with his father."

"Oh? Why's that?"

Rodney picked at a spot on the table top. "Because I was afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"Look, you don't know what it was like around here back then!" Rodney responded, looking back over at John defensively. "The world was falling apart and I wasn't sure who was going to be in charge and they were already trying to say that Teyla and Ronan and the rest of the Athosians were hostile aliens!"

"Rodney, what did you do?"

"I fudged a few reports, that's all!"

"You raised him, didn't you?" John asked suddenly, the pieces slotting into place, confirming what he'd guessed all along. "Torren is the kid you wouldn't tell me about that day in the car."

"Alright, fine." Rodney threw his hands up. "Okay? Yes. Diane and I took him in and we raised him. He lives with her right now in New York and I'm trying to talk Landry into letting him come along on the Expedition. The kid should see where he comes from." Rodney turned back to his laptop on a screech of metal from his stool and John could feel the tension radiating off of him. He sat in stunned silence for a moment or two, but recovered quickly.

"Did you think I'd be mad at you or something, McKay?" He asked, noticing that Rodney had clenched his hands into fists.

"No..."

"Then what's up? 'Cause you're acting weird about something I'm glad you did." And he was glad. Rodney had given Torren a home and a family. He couldn't comment on the man's parenting skills per se, but with a wife around, life couldn't have been all that bad for Teyla's son.

"It's just..."

"What, Rodney?"

"Well, I'm not the one she wanted." his tone was borderline puerile and John furrowed his brow.

"Wanted for what? McKay, you are confusing the shit out of me."

"Teyla! If anything happened to her or Kanaan, she wanted _you_ to take Torren." Rodney let out in a rush and John blinked over at him stupidly. What had that woman been thinking?

"Me?" He muttered in disbelief, rolling the idea of being a father around in his head, poking at it like some kind of dead unknown animal on the side of the road. It was preposterous. Uncle John, sure, but a _dad_?

"She was wrong, McKay." John stated firmly and he didn't let Rodney look away when he turned around again. "You and Diane gave that kid a better life than I ever could. And even if I had been around back then, I would have said the same thing."

"Really?"

"Yeah, Rodney," he said as enthusiastically as he could and the scientist seemed to believe him a little at least.

"So tell me about him. What's he like?"

"Well, he's smart," Rodney started, perking up a little and turning back around on his stool to face John. "I mean, Teyla was no Einstein, but I think I rubbed off on the kid at least a little in that regard. And he's strong, too; got his mother's instincts. He looks a lot like Teyla but there's some of his dad in him as well. You'd like him Sheppard, he reminds me of you sometimes. He's stubborn, and cocky, and gets on my nerves..."

"So he's, what, about 19 now?" John asked, cutting Rodney off.

The scientist nodded. "Just turned 19 about a month ago, actually and is almost finished with ROTC in New York."

"Yeah!?" John smiled, excited by the idea that Teyla's son was joining the USSF. "Wow, Rodney McKay raised a kid. Who would have thought."

"I still say it should have been you," Rodney replied, dipping his eyes away again.

"Seriously, McKay, could you ever see me as a father?"

"Yes, John." He answered, face falling just a little. "I could."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've read it, you've absorbed it, maybe even went back and reread one part of it over again... so now it's time to direct your cursor down to that little Comments box and leave me your thoughts :):)


	15. Rodney McKay Recalls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so very sorry you guys! I got hit with this MASSIVE case of writer's block and rewrote this chapter about 10 times. You think I'm joking, but I'm not. I nearly threw my iPad at the wall doing it, too. Thankfully I didn't and a new station on Pandora gave me the extra kick in the pants I needed to finally get this chapter right. I think perhaps, after being in John's head for so long, my problem came from switching over to Rodney for awhile. And there's the fact that this started out as a friggin' one shot and is now 15 chapters and 100,000+ words :) Anyway, I hope you enjoy.

Fatherhood.

It sounded like a simple enough concept in his head, but it had been, by far, the most terrifying thing Rodney McKay had ever been through.

Fatherhood was unpredictable, no matter how many times he sat down at his desk and tried to map it's subtle intricacies or grasp all of its interlocking and meandering parts.

Fatherhood had no set of rules either, no structure - despite what the plethora of books he'd read on the subject had tried to tell him. As a scientist his world had been ordered by facts and principles, but there was no principle that ever could have prepared him for what it would be like accepting that sleeping child into his arms. No equation to dictate how he should react as Kanaan pleaded with him not to tell anyone what he was about to do or hate him for the decisions he'd made.

Sometimes late at night when some problem with his wormhole research wouldn't let him sleep, Rodney McKay would think back on that moment and wonder if he had done the right thing. Maybe he should have tracked Kanaan back down and made him stay on Earth somehow. Maybe he should have told the SGC about Torren John (or TJ as they'd taken to calling him) and had them find a more suitable home for the kid. He'd never been what anyone would have described as "father material" but he was usually only able to come to one conclusion during the those long hours of the night when sleep was elusive. One irrefutable fact: that Torren John was _his._ It wasn't how it was supposed to work out. It wasn't perhaps what the universe had intended for any of them really, but Rodney McKay had fallen in love with that little boy and had done the best he could in raising him.

Back on Atlantis he would have been the first one to admit that he didn't have the slightest idea what to do with kids - his interactions with the children on the worlds they visited could attest to that - but the day he'd left that tiny apartment he shared with Diane as a scientist and returned to it later that night as a father, all that had changed in an instant. Suddenly the Gods of Science were being replaced by diapers and baby food. Subspace research was pushed aside to make room for the worries that plagued him about the SGC and if someone there would find out about what he had done and try to take his son away from him. Diane had been his one constant through it all; the glue that had held him together at times, and between the two of them, they'd managed to raise one pretty damn impressive young man. TJ was smart, strong, top of his class and Rodney McKay had never been more proud of anyone else in his life.

Details of the past 18 years were sitting on the tip of Rodney's tongue just waiting to be revealed, but as he turned once again to face the old friend that sat perched on the stool beside him, Rodney found that he just couldn't do it. Ever since that day a week ago when he'd ambushed Sheppard at his little Cabin in the woods in Wisconsin, all he'd brought to the man was more misery. It'd started with that disaster of a conversation where he'd practically blamed John for the deaths of Cameron Mitchell and Samantha Carter and had ended just now with Rodney dropping the bombshell that he'd raised their dead friend's son. A truth made even more heavy by the fact that the Athosian had wanted the job to fall to Sheppard. Rodney was getting himself into the middle of things he knew nothing about and instead of aiding everyone in putting John Sheppard back together, it was as if he was only helping to pull the man farther apart. Not only did John have the weight of the past to contend with, but now the uncertainty of the future as well. A future muddied by the impossible expectations of the present. If Rodney thought about it, he was amazed the ageing solider was sitting on the stool beside him at all and hadn't just thrown in the towel ages ago and said the hell with it. The fact that he hadn't was a testament, he figured, to the kind of man John Sheppard was.

Rodney had thought a lot about his old friend over the years and could only imagine what kind of a life he had lead. The thought of always being on the run, of never being allowed to stop and to settle was not an idea that Rodney McKay could easily wrap his head around now. His own life had been far from predictable but he'd fought hard to at least get it to a place where everything didn't feel like it was about to crash down around him. John Sheppard had never been afforded that luxury... well, as far as Rodney knew. He hadn't really gotten up the courage to ask Sheppard questions like that just yet, and maybe he never would. He'd never been good with things like that and he knew the preconceived notions people usually developed about him because of it. Rodney had softened a little over the years because of TJ, sure, but the truth was, he really didn't know how to help the man sitting on the stool beside him.

John Sheppard was hurting, and it wasn't just from the bruises still mottling the skin of his face in sickly greens and yellows. It wasn't a scrape on the knee after a tumble over the handle bars that just required a little TLC to heal. This was a serious, crack down the middle of the soul kind of hurt that Rodney McKay had no idea how to repair. Like fatherhood, there was no basic scientific principle for him to fall back on and he only seemed to make matters worse when he tried to fix things. He'd just never been any good at offering comfort - of finding the right words to ease someone's pain - and it was like the universe had set him in the middle of a corn field in Iowa, told him it was his job to help John, but had overlooked one small, yet important fact: that he was no Kevin Costner. He'd managed a few 'ah-ha' moments over the past 5 days, but it wasn't anywhere near Carson's suggestion to him in the infirmary that he try to get John to open up and talk about the things that had happened in the past, or that were going on with him at any given moment. Truth was though, Rodney was dying to talk to him about what had happened all those years ago, because he had a feeling his version of events and John's were very different.

Rodney knew that everyone involved in the mission that day had their own 'What If' moments, and that he wasn't the only one who looked back on what had happened and wished he'd done something differently. For him it was the moment he'd realized Woolsey had cut off all communication with John in the Control Chair room and Rodney had been unable to reach him. In his 'what if' moment he'd torn his eyes away from the Star Drive outputs and demanded an explanation from Woolsey, eventually beating a confession out of the man with his fists before informing a thankful John Sheppard of what he'd just nearly done and sitting down to come up with some brilliant plan to save their people. He was a little bit of a hero in his scenario, but he figured that was just his brain's way of trying to make sense of the madness of that day. In reality, Rodney had been so absorbed with making sure Atlantis didn't get blown out of the sky, that he'd barely even registered the fact that John wasn't communicating with any of them anymore. The loss of Teyla and Ronan, it had hit everyone hard, but John most of all, and he'd needed all his attention focused on flying the city.

Rodney really hadn't gotten any indication that anything was out of the ordinary (well you know, except for the entire Wraith fleet attacking earth) until an unscheduled off-world activation had been announced and Rodney heard the tech behind him tell Woolsey that it was Carson Beckett. That was the first moment he'd felt like something was off because Carson was supposed to be down on Earth manning the weapons platform at Area 51. But it was the silence that followed the tech's request to lower the protective shield surrounding the gate and admit Carson that had sent Rodney's heart up into the back of his throat. It had been that silence that had told him that something was very, very wrong, because for one brief moment, Richard Woolsey had contemplated letting Carson Becket die rather than reach Atlantis. He'd given the order eventually, but Rodney was already overriding the controls and lowering the shield himself.

And then came the look in Carson's eyes as he rematerialized on the other side of the event horizon and Rodney had run up to meet him. It was a look he'd never seen in another man's eyes before (never would again, universe willing) and his heart had very nearly sputtered to a stop in his chest.

Carson had come to a halt, put a hand on Rodney's shoulder to steady himself, and had looked up at him with all of it swimming behind his eyes...

_"Rodney, radio Colonel Sheppard to stop! We cannea get through to him on Earth!"_

_"Carson, slow down! What's going on? Why aren't you down there in the chair?"_

_"'Cause the bloody bastards threw me out! Rodney, the Wraith have been culling! The Hive's you're destroying are full of people!"_

Many years later when things had finally calmed down and the world started to look as if it would actually survive, Rodney McKay saw a movie he really didn't care for all that much. It was one of those artsy fartsy films that Diane would drag him to every so often so they could feel normal again, but there was one line of the movie that had always stuck with him and always seemed to pop into his head when he thought back on what had happened next. The narrator of the film had described a poem called Loss, carved into the stone of a temple. The poem had only three words, but the poet had scratched them out. "You cannot read Loss," the narrator said solemnly. "Only feel it."

After he'd uncovered what the IOA had done, the SGC had sent a archivist to his office to document what had happened next in his own words. And he'd tried that day to explain to that poor girl what it was like the moment the world fell apart, but the poet in the temple had been right. There was no way to describe what it felt like to have the very air stolen from his lungs. Explain that ache in his chest he got the moment he turned around and saw that look in Woolsey's eyes. The one that confessed he'd been in on it all along. There were no words to adequately detail what he was feeling as he turned on his heel and headed to the control chair room, Carson and a handful of Marines sent through the gate to stop them, chasing him through the city as he fought to get to John before it was too late.

Rodney McKay was first and foremost a scientist and he would spend vast amounts of his time and energy in those years following the Wrath War trying to make sense of wha happened that day. He would deconstruct the events leading up to that one impossible moment again and again. Searching each one for the connections they shared at the molecular level nearly driving himself mad in the process, because there was no rhyme or reason to any of it. The thing that had very nearly destroyed all of their lives was the result of nothing more than greed and a handful of men who had forgotten what it was like to be human.

"You got awfully quiet," a tentative voice murmured beside him, bringing Rodney out of his thoughts. He glanced over at Sheppard and the man was watching him closely.

What had they been talking about?

"So will Torren be joining the expedition?"

Oh right, his son.

"I hope so," Rodney answered, not really sure if it was even the right answer. He could just imagine what people were going to say, the cracks that they were going to make behind his back when the news that he was a father finally broke. "I put in the official request to Landry a few days ago, but I don't even know if it will go through. It's not like I can sit him down and tell him the real reason I want Torren to come here."

"Well I guess that answers my next question," John chuckled.

"You wanted to know if I'd told anyone about him yet," Rodney guessed and John nodded.

There was actually only one other person in all of Cheyenne Mountain who even knew that Rodney had an adopted son and that was Carson Beckett, but even then Rodney had never come right out and told the MD that Torren was Teyla's. He figured the man had his suspicions but Carson had never said anything and for a long time Rodney had been okay with that. But now that he was trying to get TJ involved with the expedition, he was glad he'd decided to share everything with John. He was going to need all the people he could get on his side if and when TJ arrived because anyone who knew Teyla from before was going to take one look at that young man and know exactly whose son he was.

"So," John went on, "did you tell Torren about all of this? Does he know who he is?"

Rodney shrugged. "Most of it."

It was an honest enough answer. Torren really did know who he was. That was something Rodney had always insisted on because he knew someday Atlantis would fly again and that TJ deserved a chance to see the galaxy where he was born and to know his mother's people. Diane and been totally supportive of the decision and as soon as Torren had been old enough to be trusted with the secret, Rodney had told him everything about who he was. It had gone well, surprisingly enough, but there was one fact that Rodney had left out. One thing he knew would eventually come back to bite him in the ass some day and was yet another reason why he was glad he'd shared everything about TJ with John.

Rodney had been avoiding the subject for nearly 18 years. He'd told himself a million times over that telling Torren about his biological father and what he had done was the right thing to do. But no matter how much he tried psyche himself up for it, Rodney McKay had never been able to look his young son in the eye and tell him that his father had left him behind on Earth. And even worse, was still alive.

"I might have left out one minor detail…" he admitted finally, shrinking a little under the penetrating gaze John threw him next. "I didn't tell him about his father leaving him."

John sucked in a breath through his teeth. "Oh man, buddy. That could get dicey."

"Tell me about it," Rodney mumbled. He was no fool… He knew the minute Torren got back to Atlantis people would immediately know what he had done and it was only going to take one ignorant person asking the kid why he hadn't gone back to Pegasus with his father to blow the whole thing out of the water. Rodney had been protecting his son from that particular heartache all his life, and TJ was old enough now to deal with the fact that Kanaan had abandoned him. Yet Rodney still couldn't bring himself to do it and he hoped that John would at least be willing to help. TJ and John were going to hit it off instantly, he just knew it, they were cut from the same cloth, and Rodney was going to milk that connection for all it was worth.

"Well, think of it this way," John suggested, leaning an elbow against the counter top as Rodney refocused his attention back on the man, "you said it yourself earlier, we don't even know if all the Wraith have been destroyed. If they hadn't been and Kanaan took Torren John back to Pegasus and something happened, you'd never forgive yourself. And if this kid is half as smart as you say he is, then he'll understand why you kept that bit from him."

"Wow Sheppard," Rodney mused, sitting back a little on his stool and folding his arms across his chest, "that's some interesting advice coming from the man who's been moping around these halls for the past five days blaming himself for everything that happened in the past." John narrowed his eyes almost angrily but Rodney wasn't about to back down. Carson wanted him to get John talking? Then Rodney was going to get John talking.

"You were _not_ responsible for what happened back then, John. You get that right?"

"So people keep telling me." Sheppard replied and let his gaze drop to the hands in his lap for a moment.

"So when are you going to start believing it?"

John heaved a heavy sigh and skeptical eyes lifted to meet Rodney's.

"Two _billion_ people, Rodney." He said simply and skeptical gave way to mournful.

"You know, I spent six months of my life unraveling all the facts about what lead to that day on Atlantis. Mitchell... Sam... they both died so I could find out in the end that five men sat in a little windowless room in Switzerland and decided, without conferring with their fellow IOA members or respective governments, that they would tell Richard Woolsey to blow all the hives out of the sky."

Rodney put up a hand and splayed his fingers slightly. "Five people John and every last one of those bastards is either dead, or rotting away in some jail cell where they don't even let you see the sunlight. It's _over_ now, and I am so very sorry that you had to go through what you did... that they betrayed you in the way they did, because I know the kind of person you are and how that must have destroyed you. Believe me, if I could send us back in time to stop it all from ever happening, I would, in a heartbeat, but seeing as how my genius brain hasn't yet cracked that particular nut, all I can do is tell you, one last time, that you are in no way responsible for anything that happened. No one blames you for what you were made to do either.

I'm so sorry it happened John, but you need to try and let it go now."

Judging by the look on his old friend's face, Rodney could tell right away that no one, not in 20 years of grieving, had ever sat John Sheppard down and apologized to him for what had happened. And while Rodney certainly wasn't the one who owed that apology to him, he could at least speak on behalf of those that did. He watched on as something altered behind the hazel eyes that finally came to rest on him, but he could see the conflict there as well. The struggle that John had with himself on whether or not to accept or reject what he was hearing.

"I am going to fly Atlantis back to Pegasus, Rodney," John replied with a determined nod of his head, like the gesture would cement his resolve somehow. It wasn't the direct acknowledgement of what he'd just said to the man that Rodney had been expecting, but he figured it was as close to a 'o _kay, McKay, I'll seriously consider what you all have been trying to beat into my head for days_ ', as he figured he was going to get.

"That you will get Atlantis home, I have no doubt," Rodney offered back, because he really didn't. When John Sheppard got something into his head, he never gave up. Buildings could explode around him, solar flares could send him 40,000 years into the future, Wraith could suck the very life from him... and still John would keep going. "I just wish you could go back there and not have to carry the weight of all that bullshit around with you. It'll just get in the way."

"Now you're starting to sound like Fitzpatrick," John snorted and Rodney thought back on that red headed usurper he was still trying to decide if he liked or not.

"Speaking of Fitzpatrick, how's everything going with that?"

Rodney watched John lift a hand and ghost it along one of the nastier bruises along his jaw line.

"Alright I guess. He's great with Bantos, I can tell you that much."

"You mean those sticks Teyla used to train with?" He asked and John nodded. "Ronon tried to give me self-defense lessons with those once. Remember?"

"I do. You were terrible." John was trying not to laugh but Rodney smiled as he let the memory play out in his head, remembering how ridiculous he'd looked covered in head to toe padding he could barely move in.

"And Fitzpatrick is using those things to help you train for Atlantis?" he asked.

"More like using them to put me in the infirmary, but yeah," John sniffed.

"Oh, right." Rodney ducked his head sheepishly. "That was mostly your fault though, you know. Carson said you were already on the verge of collapsing since you weren't eating or sleeping at the time. You're eating and sleeping now, right?"

"I am, McKay," Sheppard replied, rolling his eyes at him, but Rodney ignored it.

"What he's doing... Fitzpatrick, I mean. It's helping right?"

John paused for a moment like he was thinking his answer over and Rodney worried for a moment that he'd pushed too hard again, but Sheppard answered a beat later.

"I think so. If anything it's nice to have someone who wasn't there listen to all of it and then give me an honest opinion. I'm trying to get him to reenlist. Did I tell you that?"

John was also trying to change the subject and Rodney decided to let him.

"Well, why doesn't he?" he asked, and Sheppard launched into the former Petty Officer's story. Rodney figured he was only getting the Reader's Digest version of events, but in the end he got the general gist of it. "Wow, with a psychology background and experience working with soldiers, I bet he'll be a huge help around here. And he certainly seems to have you pegged."

"What do you mean by that?" John asked dubiously.

"I just mean he was able to penetrate that Cro-Magnon cranium of yours and get you to open up about what happened. Carson and I certainly weren't going to get it out of you."

"I know. I'm sorry about all that Rodney," John said genuinely. "It's not like I want to keep these things from you guys. It's just..."

"Oh, I get it John. I've known you since the beginning, remember? And I wasn't kidding about what I said in the hallway that day after your reenlistment ceremony. We all could care less who you do it with, as long as your letting someone help you with all of this crap," Rodney said. "And it's a lot of crap."

"Do you ever stop and look back at everything and wonder what life would be like for us if it never had happened, McKay?" John asked a little wistfully and his eyes went off somewhere far for a moment.

"All the time," Rodney admitted.

"I had this dream once that we were all standing on this balcony and looking out over Atlantis sitting in the San Francisco Bay," John continued. "I had my arm around Teyla and Ronon was right beside her and we were all really happy... it's stupid, right?"

"No, it's not stupid at all. I miss them too," ... _and in more ways than you can ever imagine_ , he thought to himself..

He missed them because Ronon would have protected Sheppard from the IOA and never would have let him drop off the face of the earth like he did. He missed them because Teyla would have done everything in her power to help Rodney bring down those responsible even though it wasn't her planet to save. The Atlantis Expedition and everyone involved with her had lost more than just two comrades that day the beautiful Athosian and stalwart, yet silent Sateden had fallen. For one thing they had been the only true friends that Rodney McKay had ever known, both of them fiercely loyal (even to a scientist who talked to much and was probably more trouble than he was worth), and they had been the glue that had held them all together. Would things have turned out differently had they not been struck down by the Wraith, Rodney could only guess, but in that alternate universe he often devised in his head where his friend's had lived, things had definitely turned out differently.

But Rodney McKay's friends had not lived and the moment he'd seen their bodies laid out on the floor of that Hive, a hole had opened up at the center of him. For 18 years he'd been shoveling other things into that hole, trying to fill it back up, but it was still just as hollow and as empty as the day it had opened up inside of him in the first place.

"Rodney?"

He'd let himself get lost in his thoughts again and John was quietly trying to coax him back out.

"Yes?"

"What happened after I left?"

"You mean with the IOA?" He asked and John nodded. Despite his earlier fears of making things worse for John, Rodney decided to answer.

"You already know most of it... after The Great Culling the Stargate program was started right back up again because the powers that be wanted to reestablish contact with our allies in the Milky Way. They were worried more Wraith would show up. I think that's what really saved us all in the end. We were too invaluable to get rid of because we were the only ones who knew anything about the Stargate and Atlantis and they needed us around to help protect Earth. I used that time to start gathering more evidence on what had happened.

I know I told you that you should have stuck around to help me with it all when I came to your cabin in Wisconsin John, but I didn't mean it. You know that right?" Sheppard nodded like he did and Rodney hoped John wasn't just trying to placate him. What he'd said, what he'd accused John of, it hadn't been fair and it had been eating away at him for days.

"I mean, they sent someone out to kill you and when you got away, it wasn't like you could read in the newspaper about what we were doing here and come back to help. We couldn't let anyone find out what we were up to.

Anyway, everyone still left was helping me. Mitchell, Sam and O'Neill were the ones who really did all the leg work since they had access to classified information I didn't. But someone must have gotten wind that they were poking around and the day after Carter and Cam gave me the final piece of the puzzle, someone planted a car bomb in Sam's SUV and killed them both. They probably hoped that it would scare me off but it was just the opposite actually. There were rumors going around the SGC at that time too, about what the IOA was trying to say really happened that day. But the real kicker came the moment they told me Teyla and Ronon wouldn't be given official burial ceremonies because their involvement with the Atlantis Expedition was under investigation. Those lunatics were trying to say that Ronon and Teyla had something to do with the Wraith finding Earth. They also tried to say that you knew exactly what you were doing and I wasn't about to sit around and let them run you all through the mud like that. I locked myself in one of the science labs Dr. Lee had set up for working with off-world ordnance and called every official still in power I could think of. I told them I was going to release everything to the public, and not just the information about what those 5 members of the IOA had done. I was going to tell them about the Stargate, Atlantis, the Goa'uld, Area 51, all of it. Luckily for me one of the people I managed to get a hold of was a close personal friend of Landry's and a few days later, the first of the arrests were made."

"Wow, Rodney," Sheppard mused when he finally finished and Rodney half wished he hadn't been sitting on a stool so he could collapse back against something. He hadn't sat down and gone through everything that had happened like that in a good long while and he suddenly felt exhausted and stretched too thin. It was an odd feeling considering he also felt as empty as ever, but it looked like John wasn't about to give him a reprieve.

"What about Woolsey, Rodney? What happened with him?"

"Ah," he sighed, "Well, Richard Woolsey was able to convince a congressional committee that he had no knowledge of the fact that the orders hadn't come through the proper channels. As hard as it is to believe, John, he still maintains to this day that he really did believe he was following the orders of the full IOA."

"He still let me kill all those people," came John's muttered reply and Rodney nodded solemnly.

"Why that man didn't question the order or just flat out refuse to go through with it, is between him and his god I guess," Rodney shrugged. "Though the fact that he showed up here a few days ago makes me think he still pays for his crimes in some way."

Richard Wolsey avoiding prosecution was the one thing in all of it that still set Rodney's teeth on edge. In the end it had been decided by powers more lofty than he that Woolsey hadn't known what he was doing, but Rodney could never forgive the man for the fact that he'd let John destroy two billion lives. Would never forgive the fact that he hadn't told whomever was at the other end of that order to go to hell. It's what John would have done if he had been in charge. What Sam Carter would have said had the IOA not yanked her from her rightful place as Expedition leader so they could replace her with one of their own stooges. And hadn't Richard Woolsey just been the perfect stooge?

"There's one other thing I've been wondering about," John went on.

"Oh? Well fire away then. I'm an open book... apparently," his response broke up the tension a little and both men laughed.

"Don't get mad at me for askin' this buddy, but where was Jennifer Keller when all this was going on?"

The question caught Rodney off guard and he covered up his surprise with a cough and a question. "What made you think of her?"

"Well, last time I saw you, you two looked like you were heading in a certain direction..."

"Oh. Right. Well, there's not much to tell. She couldn't stomach what the IOA had done and I couldn't leave, so we parted ways. I don't regret it or anything, if that's what you're thinking. If things had developed with Jennifer, I never would have meet Diane."

"Ah, the mysterious ex-wife I keep hearing about. Do you guys still keep in touch?"

"Pretty much. TJ lives with her so she calls me every so often to give me updates. He should be done with his program in a few weeks and hopefully you'll get to meet him." Rodney was trying to steer the conversation away from his failed marriage, but John wasn't having any of it.

"So what happened between you two?" Rodney let out another sigh and tried to decide what he would tell John.

When he had met Diane, he'd been half a person. There were pieces of him missing that Teyla and Ronon had taken with them when they'd died, chunks of him being carried around in the rucksack John Sheppard had managed to reduce his entire life down into. He'd really thought he'd been in love with that woman and they had some really happy years together, but he'd never been able to give her what she wanted, what she needed... what she deserved. So they'd ended it and though it had stung, it didn't destroy Rodney the way it probably should have. His first love, well, right after TJ, was the science and he just hadn't been able to put her before his work. But how did he admit all that to John and not have him feel like he was somehow responsible? Loosing John, thinking him dead all those years, had had a profound effect on Rodney, though he'd never admit it to the man sitting on the stool in front of him.

Thankfully though a soft knock on the laboratory door saved him from having to answer and Evan Lorne popped his head into the lab.

"Sorry to interrupt you guys, but I was wondering if I could talk to you for a second, Sheppard." John looked to Rodney as if asking permission to leave and he gave it with a smile and a nod, though he had a sneaky suspicion John would be back for more answers.

Once more alone in the uncompromising cold of his lab, Rodney woke the laptop in front of him from its stasis and set into the work he knew he'd never be able to concentrate on.

..

\oO0Oo/

..

John Sheppard stepped out into the warmer air of the corridor and didn't know whether to thank Even Lorne for pulling him out of that room or be irritated by the intrusion. Rodney had been relentless in his attack, dropping bombshell after bombshell on an unsuspecting John, and he was still pulling shrapnel from his side and licking at his wounds. It had been his fault really, he'd asked those questions of Rodney, but his mind was still reeling from all he had learned.

Rodney McKay was a father, and not only was Rodney a father, but he'd raised Teyla's abandoned son. A son, he'd also learned, that Teyla had wanted _him_ to raise should anything happen to her or Kanaan. He just couldn't picture himself as a father, despite what Rodney had tried to say. In fact, when he let that particular scenario play out in his mind he saw himself not letting Kanaan go back to Pegasus at all. Or, if that couldn't be helped, then all of them sharing custody of TJ and raising him together somehow. Maybe it was the fact that he'd long ago given up the idea of having kids of his own that did it, he wasn't sure, but Uncle John... now that had a nice ring to it.

Thinking it best to leave thoughts of fatherhood alone for the time being though, John returned his attention back to the man who had pulled him away.

"So, what's up Lorne?"

"I finally heard back from my guy," the colonel replied and immediately had John's undivided attention.

Yesterday when John had visited Atlantis, he'd pulled Lorne aside and asked him to please discretely send a man from his task force out to Blue River just to check on things there and it looked like he'd finally checked in.

"Did he find anything?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary so far as he could tell," Lorne explained and John let out a relieved breath.

"He checked on the woman you mentioned and confirmed that your buddy Eddie is still out of town. You sure you don't have a number to reach him at?" John shook his head. He didn't have Eddie's Chicago number but had a pretty good idea of where he could get it.

"Look Sheppard," Lorne went on, "I know that my guy didn't find anything out there and that your reluctant to get your friends back home involved in all of this, but I think we need to bring Landry and the others in on it now." John looked up at Lorne almost angrily, mind immediately rebelling against the idea, but Lorne continued on anyway. "It's just too much of a coincidence that someone went there looking for information about you, you know? I say we're better off playing it safe."

John ran a hand through his hair and scratched at the back of his neck with a fingertip, trying to decide what to do. Besides Rodney (and now Lorne of course) no one knew about his relationship with Carrie or that he had people he cared for back in Blue River. There were only a handful of people who even knew he'd settled in that town in the first place, but if he told Landry and the rest of them about the mystery visitor there, then he was going to be putting them all in even more danger than they already were. The information would be on official record then and classified documents, no matter how carefully protected, could be breached. Written information could be leaked to outside interested parties. Prying eyes could be privy to private information that was no one's business but his own. It was like fate was sending the two worlds he'd spent 18 odd years trying to keep apart careening toward one another and John was stuck in the space between unable to prevent what was about to happen or avoid the inevitable collision. He was doomed if he did, doomed if he didn't... _christ_ , was he ever going to catch a break.

"Alright," John agreed on a resigned sigh, sounding far from convincing, but Lorne apparently decided it was definitive enough for him.

"You're making the right decision, John," he said with a nod. "You want to talk to Landry or should I?"

"No, buddy, don't worry about it. I can take care of that." It had been John's decision not to bring up Carrie's phone call or the mystery visitor to Blue River in the meeting that morning and if Landry was going to be pissed about being kept in the dark regarding the potential new information, John deserved to be the one to bear the brunt of that, not Lorne. Truth was, there were other reasons he'd kept quiet about everything that morning. John had wanted to make sure there really was something to worry about before he got everybody's panties in a twist and sent them all to Def-Con 1. Especially if it all just turned out to be some ass-backwards attempt by Richard Woolsey at contacting him. He just hoped the general didn't over react and suddenly decide that there was a security threat and stick him with a security detail or something. Shit, wouldn't _that_ just be fantastic? Running around the SGC with a bunch of heavily armed Marines at his back stopping anyone and everyone who came to close to him… Yeah, the people about to come under his command would just love to see that.

"There's nothing to suggest that they're in any danger, John," Lorne placated, misreading his sudden silence. "This is just a precaution."

"Right," he replied without much conviction and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his BDUs grumpily.

"Hey, you got anything going on right now?" Lorne veered off topic suddenly with a conspiratorial glint in his eye.

John titled his head slightly and eyed his smiling friend warily. "…No. I've still got one more day before Carson releases me back to duty. Why, what'd you have in mind?"

"Well, now I'm not so sure. I would hate to pull you away from McKay..." Lorne joked, gesturing towards the closed bio lab door but John found himself shaking his head.

"No, Lorne. Please, pull away."

Lorne took his reply as a crack at Rodney's ever present charm, but truth was, John needed a break from revelation for a little while and what ever Lorne was proposing, it certainly looked like it would be more fun than sitting in that cold lab biting off more than he could chew asking his questions about what had happened in the times he'd missed. Plus, there were a few things John had wanted to talk to Evan Lorne about as well and this was the perfect opportunity.

"Well, that settles it then. Follow me." Lorne smiled and started off down the hall towards the heart of the mountain, leaving a bewildered John to follow behind.

"Where are we going?" He asked a second later when he caught back up but Lorne just smiled over at him.

"You'll see when we get there."

As the two men walked the halls headed to places unknown John tried to get his old friend to at least give him a hint as to where they were going, but Lorne remained resolutely silent on the subject. John, sensing he was not going to get anything out of the man, gave up a few moments later and let his eyes fall to the floor. Picking one of the ubiquitous painted lines on the hallway tile he traversed it trying not to let the bottom of his boots touch anything other than the green line he'd chosen until Lorne stopped them in front of a bank of elevators. He hit the button to go up and John went through all the upper levels in his head trying to decide what was up there that could possibly interest him, but he couldn't come up with anything and decided to redouble his efforts at trying to get a hint from his friend. But before he could, Lorne spoke up again.

"So are you settling into your new quarters alright?" he asked as they stood before the elevator doors, the soft whoosh of the mechanics engaging within issuing from the crack between the closed double doors.

"They're nice enough," John replied with a shrug. "Nothing like we had on Atlantis, but they'll do."

"I know what you mean," Evan chuckled, eyeing the elevator doors suspiciously when an odd sounding clang came from inside just as the car arrived on their floor. "I was talking to Landry the other day and he's seriously considering sending all of us over to Atlantis for good."

"Really?" John asked excitedly. As much as he liked the Cheyenne mountain facility, he was eager to return to his city. John missed being able to walk past a window and actually see the sky. He missed open spaces and running routes that cut through fresh air and scenery more interesting than the khaki colored green paint of the SCG base gym. He was ready to go home.

"Yeah," Lorne went on, "I can protect you and the other ATA carriers a lot easier over there instead of ferrying everybody back and forth every time Rodney needs a light bulb changed. And I figured you could complete your training with Fitzpatrick just as easily over there."

When the elevator doors opened to admit them, Lorne gestured for John to head in first. When he hit the button for the uppermost level, John's curiosity got the better of him again.

"Come on Lorne, where we going?" He prodded but Lorne just gave him that same conspiratorial look and tried not to smile.

"I'm taking you up to the helipad," he finally admitted and John's face fell a little. He had been hoping that there destination would be a little more interesting than another trip over to Atlantis.

"Oh," was all he said and this time Lorne really did smile.

"It's not what you think, Sheppard. Trust me."

That comment was enough to spark his interest again and get John questioning his conclusions about where they were headed and he exited the elevator before Lorne looking bewildered. What did that man have up his sleeve?

Whatever it was, Lorne had to stop at the security checkpoint just inside the door to the helipad and fill out a stack of paperwork. John waited for him as patiently as he could down at the other end of the hall but his patience was wearing thin. He hadn't brought a coat so going outside was going to be brutal and he hoped whatever Lorne had in mind wasn't going to involve him freezing to death at the top of Cheyenne Mountain. But mostly he was irritated because the guard and Lorne were talking low with their heads together and shooting glances his way every so often. John had had just about enough of attention like that and had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from lashing out at Lorne when he finally joined him again.

"You ready?" The man asked and John rolled his eyes.

"Let's just do this thing already," he said sharply but Lorne was apparently too excited about what was going to happen next to give any credence to the grumble.

Evan Lorne walked up the the heavy security door cut into the very stone of the mountainside and held it open for John on a blast of cold air. From his place in the corridor inside he could tell it was one of those rare winter days when the sun had pushed past the steely gray clouds of it's midwinter den to shine down on the world. He looked over to Evan, brow creased in sudden trepidation for a moment, but the colonel coaxed him forward with a nod and a promising smile. He took a few steps out into the cold that even the bright sunlight couldn't chase away, and nearly grabbed hold of Lorne to keep himself upright.

Parked in the middle of the tarmac, glistening happily under the bright mid day sun, looking as beautiful as the last day he had seen her, was Jumper One.

Cold instantly forgotten, John stumbled forward a few steps and put a hand out to ghost his fingers over the cool metal of her textured outer body. He let them map the ridges there for a moment, lingering on several deep gouges on one of her drive pods that had never been adequately been repaired and tried not to get lost in the grip old memories. They didn't overwhelm him like he half expected they might. Instead John stood before the Puddle Jumper he'd always claimed as his own and let memories of off-world missions and long dead friends come sweeping up and over him. But when the hairs at the back of his neck stood up on end and warned him he was courting a dangerous edge, John let the memories fall back away and started to circle the Jumper.

She was spotless and clean with a fresh coat of paint, he noticed, and as he neared her rear hatch it lowered slowly as if in greeting. His ATA gene rippled up and down his arms and set the nerve endings in his fingers to tingling and he was surprised for a moment that he hadn't been able to sense the jumper while he'd been waiting for Lorne at the checkpoint. Well he was certainly feeling it now and he walked up the ramp and into the jumper's rear compartment with his heart nearly pounding out of his chest. Lorne followed in behind him but hung back and watched with a smile and arms folded across his chest as John got reacquainted with the puddle jumper.

Being inside the jumper was like visiting Atlantis for the first time all over again, but unlike that day he'd been reunited with his city, John let himself power up the machines that were calling out to him. The HUD burst to life against the front glass in a flurry of activity. The lights around him flared brighter suddenly as he connected, as if they were surprised for a moment to have someone near them again who was both supposed to be there and who knew that they were doing.

"Can I?" He asked, titling his head towards the pilots chair and Lorne nodded.

John slid easily into the chair and the blue and white grated lights set into the panels beside him bathed everything in an almost etherial light. He resisted the urge to run his fingers over the controls on the main console, knowing how ridiculous he'd look doing it and instead let his mind relax around the intense feeling of being completely connected to the jumper while he ran a diagnostic. It was just to make sure that everything was running smoothly and the HUD came to life again in a barrage of readings.

Lorne joined him in the forward compartment a moment later and took up the co-pilot's chair beside him.

"Everything alright?"

"Purring like a kitten!" he said and revved the engine for added emphasis before shooting Lorne a shit eating grin.

"Alright then Cap'n. Take her out."

"Wait, what?" He sputtered, not quite sure he'd heard Lorne correctly.

"She's scheduled for a run today anyway and I was supposed to get one of the ATA gene potentials to practice on her, but this is a much better idea, don't you think?" John had half a mind to get up out of his seat and clap Even Lorne on the back.

"You run this by Landry?" He asked, suddenly leery. He'd just gotten back on base and hadn't even gotten through one whole day of training yet. Somehow he didn't think the general would approve something like this soon soon.

"You let me worry about Landry, John," Evan said, waiving his concern away like it was nothing. "Besides, I think she's been waiting for you." Lorne actually winked.

Before his brain could come up with any more reasons why what they were about to do was a terrible idea, John lifted the ship from the helipad, engaged the cloak with a mere thought and shot the Puddle Jumper up and into the sky.

The feeling was exhilarating. There was nothing like it in the world and he climbed the gate ship higher and into the upper layers of the Earth's atmosphere reveling in the fact that he could fly them to the moon if he felt like it. This was that elusive feeling of completeness he'd been chasing after ever since he'd arrived back at the SGC. It was like piloting that ship took that one bit of himself that had reappeared at his center after reuniting with Atlantis and found it's correct fit inside of him and he felt well and truly whole for the first time in a long time. So much so he nearly closed his eyes as they sped through he clouds and towards the stars. He could feel everything, from the hum of the engines on either side of him to his connection with every racing electrical circuit and internal process within the jumper. It was the best thing to happen to him in days and he pulled them up to an altitude where they would be sure not to get in the way of any passing planes, engaged the autopilot and set a course for Paris France. There was something he needed to do.

"Thanks for this Lorne," he said a moment later, stopping to clear his throat when the words tried to lodge in the back of his throat.

"No sweat. Where are you taking us?"

"I always told myself that if I ever got one of these babies on earth I'd go fly laps around the Eifel tower. You don't mind, do you?" He asked, hoping he hadn't made an incorrect assumption that it would be okay.

"No arguments here." Lorne said with an easy shrug.

John settled back into his seat and watched as wisps of thin cloud raced past the sleek body of the jumper as they raced across the miles. The sky up there was clear but just below them was a floor of fluffy white and in the silence that followed John remembered his to-do list from that morning and figured now was as good a time as any to ask his questions of Lorne.

"Mind if I ask you something, buddy?" He asked, and Lorne pulled his eyes away from the spectacular view outside the main window to look over at him.

"Shoot."

"Did you have anything to do with getting rid of that man the IOA sent to kill me?" John kept his own eyes fixed on some unknown spot on the horizon but he didn't miss when Lorne shifted a little in his seat.

"What makes you think I had anything to do with it?" He asked, not really answering the question but not flat out denying any involvement either.

"Well, I woke up in that hospital in Denver after the explosion under a different name. It was John Evans so I always wondered if it was you."

"No shit! I can see why you would have suspected it though. Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you Sheppard, but I had nothing to do with changing your name or pulling you out of the San Francisco hospital."

"I had a feeling you'd say that." John huffed, disappointed he wasn't getting the answers he'd hoped for.

"Why's that?"

"Well, if you had something to do with it I figured you would have told everyone where to find me. I think that's maybe why I kept the name I was hoping you guys had used it on purpose and would try to come and find me." The idea came to him suddenly and he chewed on it for a moment.

"Nope, sorry John. It wasn't me," Lorne said. "But I can shed some light on what happened with your would be assassin. Now _that_ I did have something to do with." John perked up again looked back over at Lorne.

"After the crash Dr. Beckett came to me about the man who'd kicked him off the helicopter. He was convinced the guy had been sent by the IOA to kill you. After he read me in on everything that had gone down with the Hive ships, I put a few of my guys on the next jumper out and told them to keep you safe. When I debriefed them a while later they told me that it was actually this random ER doc that probably saved your life. I guess he'd caught that Sergeant trying to sneak into your room and set security on him. The guy got tossed and I had a 24 hour guard set up on your room after that, but it didn't help. One day after your last surgery, you just disappeared."

"And no one saw anything?" John asked incredulously.

"Nope, not a thing. They took you up for a CT scan or something one morning and you just never came back. There was no record of a transfer, no incitation that you were even alive, though Dr. McKay certainly never gave up hope."

"Shit," John mused, rubbing the back of his neck with a palm. "And I woke up in a hospital in Denver thinking the IOA was still after me."

"What did you do after that?" Lorne asked. "I always wondered."

"Well, as soon as I could I got the hell out of there obviously. It was probably too soon after waking up, but I made my way okay. Hitched across country for a long time then finally settled in Blue River."

Lorne let out a low whistle. "And all that time you thought people were out to kill you and you had to deal with what happened with the Wraith. That must have been a hard life, John."

"It had its ups and downs," he replied, noticing that Lorne had just called him John and not quite sure what to make of it.

"Was your girl in Blue River one of the ups?" the former Major asked next and John felt his ears redden a little.

"Wouldn't you just like to know."

" _Everyone_ wants to know. You wouldn't believe some of the rumors going around about what you were doing for the past 20 years."

"Seriously?" he laughed.

"My favorite is from the guys in the IT department. They think you and Rodney have been having a secret love affair and you've been living in some shack in the mountains.

John snorted and his eyebrows chased up after his hairline. "They know he was married, right?"

Lorne laughed, "They sure do, but that doesn't stop the rumor mill."

"So what have you been up to for the past 18 years, Lorne?" John asked to change the subject and Lorne smiled at the obvious diversion.

"I stuck to New York mostly. A lot of people went there after the Wraith Hive ship debris hit DC and burned it to the ground."

"Yeah, I remember reading that," John mumbled, recalling the newspaper headline informing him that debris from the very ships he'd helped destroy had made it through the atmosphere and taken out DC. He didn't know if it was the remnants of the last ship he'd annihilated - he figured he could find that out if he tried hard enough - but maybe that was a stone best left unturned. He had enough to worry about already and adding the destruction of DC to the list of his sins didn't seem like such a good idea.

"Aw shit, Sheppard, I'm sorry," Lorne apologized, putting two and two together. "I shouldn't have brought that up."

"Don't worry about it," he replied, knowing he sounded far from convincing. They were near Paris anyway and as John Sheppard tipped the nose of the Puddle Jumper toward the earth, he chased after his plummeting spirits and tried to outrun the past.

But he never was fast enough.


	16. Acceptance

When John returned to the SGC later that evening it was in a far better mood then when he had left. Yeah, Lorne mentioning DC had managed to bring him down a bit, but he'd gotten to cross something huge off his bucket list, got his ass back in the cockpit of his favorite jumper and had even managed to solve at least part of a mystery that had been plaguing him for the past 20 years. He knew now that Lorne and his men were responsible for keeping him safe at the hospital. Well, them and the random ER doc that had apparently set security on his would-be assassin. Now there was just the question of who had transferred him out of the hospital in San Francisco and into the trauma center all the way in Denver. While the fact that he was still alive made John suspect that the transfer had been done to help him, he couldn't help but be angry with his mysterious benefactor. If it hadn't been for them, he wouldn't have spent the last 18 years of his life on the run from a threat that had been quickly quashed thanks to the efforts of his friends. And speaking of his friends, John was going to have to remember to pay Carson Beckett a visit in the next day or so to thank the man for letting Lorne know about the man sent to kill him. That quick thinking was probably what had saved his life that day and John had a new motto to live up to: give credit where credit was due.

What a fickle thing fate was, dooming him one moment then changing the course of the stars to save him the next. When John thought about it though, his life was full of moments like those but he figured the day he finally got the answers he was looking for was going to be the day he died. For now all thoughts like that seemed to do was give him headaches and he made his way back to his bunk still riding the high of his jumper flight, but utterly exhausted from everything he had been through the past few days. His first thought was to just to collapse onto his bed in a heap and sleep for a week but before he afforded himself that luxury, there were a few things he needed to take care of.

John settled himself into the chair at his desk and captured the phone's receiver between shoulder and ear. Blue River had been on his mind a lot lately, especially now that he knew what Lorne's man had found on his visit there. _Nothing out of the ordinary to report_ , but John was still itching to talk to Eddie and to find out, once and for all, what the visitor to Blue River had looked like. Even if it just ended up being Richard Woolsey pulling some stupid-assed stunt, John still needed to know, and suspected he wouldn't get another moment's peace until he at least had a description of the guy. His brain just wouldn't leave it alone, despite his best efforts, so John reluctantly punched the "0" on his green plastic phone to reach the base operator and held his breath. He hadn't forgotten that irritated voice from before that had greeted him the last time he'd tried this but was relieved when a friendly enough male voice came over the line instead. The older gentlemen who helped him found the numbers John was looking for easily enough and read them off slowly so he could scratch them down onto the pad of paper he'd managed to find in one of the desk's drawer. When it was all said and done they cordially wished each other a good evening and John set the phone's headset back into its cradle feeling a little better about things. It was kind of refreshing to speak with someone who didn't know who he was and who wouldn't turn to the person sitting next to them and whisper about him the second he left the room. People were always turning to others to whisper about him now that he was back and John had to admit, it was getting kind of old.

John sat back in his chair and stared at the piece of paper clutched in his hands. There were two numbers written over the pale blue SGC watermark inked into the center of the page and he couldn't for the life of him decide which to try first. It was like trying to pick the lesser of two evils, though he desperately wanted to talk to each of them even though he knew they both were going to pepper him with questions he wasn't sure he was ready for. Figuring there was no real way to decide who to talk to first, John just chose the first number on the very short list and lifted the phone again with a shaky release of breath.

"Crabby Girl Bar," a gruff voice came over the line after only a few rings and John knew immediately that it wasn't Eddie. Part of him had been hoping that his old friend would answer but the big man was probably still visiting his family in Chicago. Hopefully John could get the number off of whomever was running the bar for him.

"Is Eddie there?" He asked, even though he already knew the answer.

"Nope, sorry friend. Mr. Nostrand isn't in today."

"Well can you tell me if he's back from visiting his family in Chicago yet? I've been trying to reach him." The unknown person on the other end of the line paused for a moment.

"This John Evans?" They asked and John nearly dropped the phone.

"Who the hell is this!"

"Shit, John! It really is you! It's Davey from New Horizons!" the kid on the other end of the line exclaimed and John let the tension out of his frame in an instant. Davey Callahan was a local kid who normally worked at Blue River's only working fuel station and who apparently was filling in for Eddie at the bar while he was away.

"How's it going, Davey?" John asked, and regretted it almost instantly. The people of Blue River knew that unless you wanted to get trapped in the little store that sold cigarettes and a sorry selection of candy bars at the fuel station for hours, you never ever asked Davey Callahan how it was going. He was the town chatter box and he descended down into a diatribe that would have given Rodney a run for his money, about how Blue River was still as boring and as small as ever. John sat through it all, unable to get a word in edgewise, and finally just gave up a few moments later to hold the phone away from his ear and wait for Davey to eventually run out of steam.

"So how have _you_ been?" Davey finally asked when he had to pause to suck in a few replenishing breaths and John put the phone back to his hear before the kid could start in again.

"Can't complain. Hey, Davey, you wouldn't happen to have the number for Eddie in Chicago would you? I really need to get a hold of him but Carrie said he wasn't going to be back for another couple of days."

"Oh man, John," Davey stammered, "Well, I guess you wouldn't have been around to hear. Eddie's not gonna be back for another couple of weeks, man. That's actually why I'm filling in for him. His dad just died."

Oh crap. John knew how close Eddie was to his family out in Chicago, even if he hadn't really bothered to ask the guy much about them over the years. John could only imagine what his old friend was going through.

"Did he leave you the number there? I should really give him a call."

"Sure thing, Evans. Hold on a sec. I know it's around here somewhere..." John listened as Davey shuffled through some papers and nearly smiled when the kid bellowed down the bar at someone hollering for another beer.

"I'm on the goddam phone!" Davey yelled back, right in John's ear, and he would have laughed had he not been worried about Eddie in that moment. His friend's father had just died and now John was going to have to pester him with questions about the man who'd shown up in town asking after him. But Eddie had talked to him, had run him off even, and while John wasn't looking forward to what he had to do next, it couldn't be helped and honestly, he just wanted to settle the matter once and for all.

"Here it is!" Davey finally exclaimed a moment later and John scribbled the new number down below the other two he'd gotten from the base switchboard operator.

"Thanks, Davey," he said and recapped his pen.

"Sure thing! Hey, when you comin' back to town, huh? Eddie's back to being the worst bowler on the league and he's a pain to be around anymore. Won't shut up about it."

"Hey," John cried in mock outrage, "I was not that bad!" He'd made the mistake of subbing for someone on Eddie's team a few times at the bowling alley in town and the people of Blue River were apparently never going to let him live down that particular debacle.

"Are you kidding, Evans? You were _terrible_ ," Davey laughed and John bit his tongue to keep from saying something about his old hometown that he would regret. "But seriously, when are you coming back, man? I know Carrie sure misses you." Davey snuck the last bit in stealthy enough but John didn't miss it. Nor did he miss the tone the kid's voice took on as he said it.

"Listen buddy, I gotta go," John said instead of taking the bait and Davey chuckled on the other end of the line. "You take care of yourself kid, okay?"

"I will. You too, John," he said in farewell and the line disconnected.

John set the phone back into its cradle and glanced at the little alarm clock on his nightstand, eyes lingering for a moment on the photograph he'd placed there the other day. It was still early in the evening and Chicago was only an hour ahead of Colorado if he remembered correctly, but he was still leery of calling Eddie should he interrupt the grieving family while they were sitting down to dinner or something. But in the end concern over his friends trumped any reservations he'd had about being disrespectful and John punched the number Davey had given him into the phone with the tip of his pen. The line rang for several moments until an answering machine kicked in and John had to decide if he would leave a message or not. It was one of those automated greetings with a cold computerized voice and John wondered for a moment if perhaps Eddie's father had been the last one to leave a personalized greeting but the family had taken it down in their grief. He wanted to leave his friend a message, even if it was just to offer some comfort (as bumbling as his particular brand would be) but just as the shrill sound of the beep to leave that message filled his ears, John hung up the phone.

Truth was, while he had wanted to leave a message, he'd realized suddenly that he had no number to leave for Eddie so his friend could call him back. John figured the SGC had to have some sort of secure line in place so the families of the people living in the mountain could contact their loved ones, but John had never had any need for such a thing. There had never been anyone on the outside who cared enough about his whereabouts to ask after a way to contact him, not even Nancy, so he had no idea what the procedure was for something like that... though he figured Eddie could track him down easily enough through the USSF Headquarters in New York City if he tried hard enough. Then again, it wasn't exactly common knowledge that John Sheppard was back or involved with the Atlantis Project for that matter. He would have to remember to bring it up with Landry when he went to see him tomorrow.

John looked back down at the slip of paper resting on the desk before him and glanced at the last number on the list. This was the phone call he was going to make not because he needed to warn her of the things happening on periphery of her perfect ordered little world, but because he simply missed the sound of her voice. He'd made a promise to call again if he could but now that the time had come to make good on that promise, John found himself hesitating as his hand reached for the phone. For years he'd relentlessly pounded into his brain the need to steer clear of attachments, and yet here he was, about to call the woman he was pretty sure he'd fallen in love with and admit to the mess he'd gotten her involved in. John pulled the hand reaching for the phone back away and raised it to his mouth so he could chew at his thumb nail, something he hadn't done in years, then reached it back out again to make the call before he could chicken out again.

"Tamed Tiger, this is Audra," a high pitched and whiney voice answered and the blood in John's veins turned to ice as his very skin began to craw. Christ almighty, was he ever going to catch a break?

"Is Carrie there?" He asked warily, resisting the urge to just hang up the phone then and there.

"Who's asking?" came the haughty reply and John sighed.

"It's John, Audra. Is she around?"

"Weeeeeell, if it isn't the Lover Boy? Did you finally come to your senses and decide to run away with me?" Audra Pettigrew tried to sound sultry as she said it, but her words only managed to make John shudder. Audra was the owner of The Tamed Tiger and Carrie's conniving and manipulative bitch of a boss. She was, quite possibly, the only other person on the planet besides Richard Woolsey that John could claim to actively detest. She was a sad old crone of a woman with nothing better to do with her time then go around Blue River ruining people's lives.

"Audra, I don't have time for this," he said shortly, pinching the bridge of his nose and hoping she wouldn't just hang up on him for it. "Is she there or not?"

"Oh relax, lover boy. She called in sick for her shift today. Oh god, you didn't get her pregnant did you? Is that was this is? She kicked you out for knocking her up and now you're trying to get her back? What'd you do, Evans, try and talk her into getting rid of it?"

"No, Audra." He spat and if he he could have he would have reached through the phone and throttled that woman. "And I swear to god if you give her a hard time about what you _incorrectly_ assumed I'll come back there and make sure you never do it again." John didn't often make threats like that but thankfully Audra got the hint and backed off.

"Now now, no need to be an asshole about it, lover boy. Why don't you just try her at home?"

"Do you have the number?" he asked brusquely and Audra read it off to him in irritated monotone but without further embellishment. He hung up the phone on a terse goodbye and resisted the urge to slam the phone receiver back into its cradle. God, he despised that woman.

John took a moment to calm himself back down before lifting the phone one final time to try Carrie at the number Audra had given him but when her voicemail activated even before the line could ring, John really did slam the phone back down and all his attempts at calm flew out the window.

"Get a grip, Sheppard," he muttered to himself, resting his elbows on the desk and rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

Carrie was at home nursing a bad cold, nothing more. She had probably fallen asleep and forgotten to charge her phone and was not being held captive in some lunatic's basement like his traitorous brain kept trying to suggest. And Eddie was home in Chicago, surrounded by his family, burying his father in the ground and not being kept from Blue River by some conspiracy to get Carrie on her own.

John glanced at the clock on his nightstand to check the time but pulled his eyes away from it a second later reminding himself, once again, that Lorne's man had not found anything out of the ordinary on his trip out to Blue River. John was going to get a good night's sleep and wake up refreshed and ready for his early morning visit with Landry to once and for all officially notify the SGC that someone had been in Blue River asking after him. He was going to, discretely, let Landry know of his personal connections there. The General was then going to treat the information with the upmost discretion and the next time he called Eddie he was going to catch the man and finally get the description of the mystery visitor that had been causing him so much grief. And then when Eddie described Woolsey to a T John would look back on that one awful night he spent tossing and turning in his bed worrying over nothing, and laugh.

That's how it would all go down because there was nothing wrong with that plan.

...right?

..

\oO0Oo/

..

When morning dawned on his sixth day back at the SGC John Sheppard made his weary way to General Landry's office to finally clear the air about the mystery visitor to his old hometown. A night of restless sleep had left him tired and he was dreading what he was about to do.

It wasn't his decision not to tell the General about Carrie's phone call the other day that had him shuffling his feet a little as he walked, but more of a betrayal of sorts. Maybe he was making too much of it, but John had asked Rodney if he could trust Landry and Rodney had told him that he could. Yet at the first test of that trust, John had opted for not letting Landry in on what was going on with him. Thankfully nothing of consequence had turned up in Blue River but John had let concerns over what Landry would do with any information he gave him get in the way of that trust. Truth was, Landry needed to know what was going on and John should have brought it all up in the meeting they'd had the other day, but he'd been so concerned with keeping those two very different worlds as far apart from each other as possible that he'd never stopped to entertain the idea that Landry really could be trusted. John had made a pact with Rodney in the hallway that day before his reenlistment ceremony to open up the gates he'd used to shut out the world. They were on the frontlines under heavy fire and John was trying to save his own ass. No one made it through to the end when a team operated like that and John was the weak link, something he wasn't used to being. So he would go to Landry's office and clear the air like he'd promised Lorne and trust the general like he'd promised Rodney. See, he could do this!

John continued his trek towards the Gateroom and the General's office located nearby. He was happy to see that he was starting to blend in again and there were hardly any lingering gazes or all out stare as he made his way. Quite frankly, John was about ready for some friggin' normalcy again. You know, whatever normalcy one could find in a mountain containing a Stargate that lead to other worlds. Truth was, John was yearning for some structure and was actually looking forward to his training sessions with Fitzpatrick to start up again later in the day. Now that they'd gotten all the head games out of the way, they could focus again on the physical and John never was happier than when he was pushing the limits of his endurance. Maybe that was why he liked running so much. There was a moment just before he hit his stride where his body would try to talk him out of continuing. What he lived for was the exact moment he pushed through that resistance and settled into the headspace where he could run for hours and not even realize he'd done it. He was ready to get his face bloodied again, too (without the emotional breakdown this time, of course). He was ready for Fitzpatrick to build him back up again now that he'd been broken apart and down to his most basic elements. John Sheppard was ready for a fight and he took that feeling into the office with him when Landry admitted him a few minutes later with a soft 'come on in'.

John stepped into the office he'd only seen one other time and Landry, in early and already lost behind a sea of paperwork, rose from his seat to greet him.

"Morning, Sheppard," he said with a genuine smile and John shook the hand the general offered to him. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"If you've got a minute, General, there was something I wanted to talk to you about."

"By all means! Please have a seat." Landry waived him toward the two chairs in front of his desk and John chose the same one he'd sat in before, settling himself down into the warn leather like a baseball finding the perfect place at the center of the catcher's mitt at the end of a no hitter. "So, what can I help you with?"

Without preamble or excuse, John launched into his story about his phone call with Carrie, leaving out as much personal information as he could while still painting an accurate picture for the general. He told Landry about the mystery man who had visited his town a few days after he left. He told him about asking Lorne to check it out before he worried anyone and what Lorne's man had found. He told Landry everything he needed to know and at the end of it John was relieved to find that all of his fears had been unfounded. He'd somehow forgotten what kind of a man Hank Landry Jr. was (he knew he had his past to thank for that mostly) and the first words out of the general's mouth weren't to question John about why he'd chosen not to share with the group information that might be relevant to the sabotage investigation. No, the first thing out of Landry's mouth was a promise.

"We'll get someone out there to watch the town straight away. That way your friends are looked after and we can have eyes on anyone else who might come looking for you."

"I'd appreciate that General," he said genuinely, surprised that the man would offer such a thing given their already thin numbers. "But if we could just..."

"Don't worry," Landry cut him off, "utmost discretion. I can imagine you don't want your friends getting caught up in the middle of all this." John smiled and chastised himself for ever thinking General Landry wouldn't understand his reluctance or that he would take offense to being kept in the dark.

"I appreciate that you came to see me about this," the general finished and John ducked his head.

"I almost didn't," he admitted sheepishly.

Landry's eyes came to life with that vague look of amusement he had down to an art. "Oh?"

"I don't want anything about Blue River going on official record. Can you make that happen?"

"Of course, Sheppard," Landry promised, sitting forward. "Consider it done. Ever since we lost the ATA gene carriers, we're very careful around here about who knows what."

"And I believe it, General. I really do. But _someone_ managed to find out where I was living and according to everyone around here, there are only a handful of people who were supposed to know that information."

"You have your suspicions then?" Landry asked with a glint in his eye.

John sighed. "There's only one person I can think of who would be stupid enough to go there and stir shit up... pardon my French, Sir."

"Understood," Landry nodded without even needing any further details on who John thought that stupid person might be. "I'm headed to New York later this week. While I'm there I'll have a talk with Mr. Woolsey and his people and find out myself if any of them have visited your town."

"I'd appreciate that."

"It's no problem at all. And rest assured, Sheppard, if there is a breach, it did not come from behind this desk. Not intentionally anyway."

"I believe it," John said with as much conviction as he could saturate the word with, because he did. Landry was going out on a limb for him, protecting the people he cared about in Blue River and as far as John Sheppard was concerned, Hank Landry Jr. was good people; just like his uncle.

"So, besides the drama in Wisconsin, how is everything else going for you? Are you all settled in now?" Landry asked but something in his eyes told John he was well aware of the trouble John had already gotten into. He wondered then if he should mention his impromptu jumper flight yesterday afternoon with Evan Lorne, but decided against it.

"Same as yesterday, I guess." He answered with a shrug. "It's manageable."

"Well I'm glad to hear it. My door is always open if anything else pops up."

"Actually, there was something I was wondering about General."

"Fire away."

"Is there a number I can give to people so they can reach me on base? There are a few friends in Blue River that might need to call me back should anything else happen out there who want it and I didn't know what to tell them." It was only part of the reason, but Landry didn't need to know the rest.

The general retrieved a sheet paper from one of the drawers of his desk and slid it over to John between the stacks of paperwork.

"This explains all the procedures. Just don't give the number out to anyone who doesn't need it or Agnes from the Switchboard will be all over my ass." John couldn't help but wonder if the general meant the lovely lady he'd had the pleasure of speaking with the first time he'd called to get the numbers he needed. Judging by Landry's comment, they were probably talking about the same woman.

"Thanks."

"You start your training with Fitzpatrick back up today, right?" Landry asked and John nodded. "If you don't mind, when you're finished there I'd like to sit you down and get your opinion on the man's effectiveness. I think he could be a real asset around here with some of our more seasoned returning reenlisted and I'd appreciate any input you can give me on his methods."

"Yeah! Absolutely," John agreed eagerly. Fitzpatrick had managed to get him talking about what had happened with the Wraith ships, something no one had managed to do in nearly 20 years his keeping it all so close to the vest, and that in itself was a praise worthy feat. John figured the least he could do was give the kid a glowing reference and help secure him a job at the SGC and a possible place on Atlantis. The kid was built like a tank, would be a valuable asset, and if John could just get him to reenlist as well, then that would be icing on the cake. He'd have to remember to bring it up to the big Irishman again later.

"Thank you," Landry said with a nod. "Now, don't you have a USSF seminar to attend this morning?"

John smiled at the not so subtle dismissal. "I do, but there's one last thing I need and if you could keep this between us as well, I'd appreciate it."

"What's that?" Landry asked with that amused look back in his eye, the one John was coming to realize meant the General knew more than he was letting on.

"Rodney put in a request for a young man finishing up his ROTC training in New York to be involved in the Atlantis expedition. I'd like for that to happen if possible."

"Consider it done," Landry said almost immediately, and John couldn't decide if the General was just amused that he'd asked such a favor, or if he knew exactly what was going on. Regardless, John left Landry's office feeling better than he had in the better part of a week and made his way to his first meeting of the day.

..

\oO0Oo/

..

Things were finally looking up. He hadn't been able to say that in nearly 20 years, but they really truly were. Blue River was being looked after. Landry had been true to his word and had sent a few men out to keep an eye on things and John had finally settled into a routine that was just on the right side of normal. He was even getting a kick out of his training sessions with Fitzpatrick and over the past several days the red headed firebrand of an Irishman had been kicking his ass in ways John didn't even know his ass could be kicked. He still hadn't managed to reach Eddie but Carrie he knew was getting over the stomach flu under the careful watch of her elderly aunt Eileen. Even the extra company John noticed following him around lately (most likely tasked by Landry) managed not to bother him, even though he was rarely ever allowed to be alone anymore. Things were secure for the moment and all that seemed left to worry about was the proverbial other shoe to drop because it just wasn't like the universe to leave him alone for so long...

The only thing that sucked about it all going right for once, were the insufferable classes on the USSF that he was being forced to sit through. Shit, it was like watching paint dry during those things and he'd nearly crawled out of his own skin the other day when he'd finally attended his first one with a handful of other reenlisted. It was important for him to understand the inner workings of the USSF, he got that. As leader of the expedition on Atlantis it would be imperative that he know how to navigate the choppy waters of military rank and all of the politics surrounding it, but it was hard work reprogramming his brain like that. The new structure he was learning about was just enough like his old Air Force way of doing things to be familiar to him, but different enough from what he had known to make memorizing all the new shit downright maddening. The one thing that got him through it, made any of it worthwhile, was the weapons training.

He never would have thought it possible, but the feel of that P90 in his hands was rapturous. He hadn't had another panic attack since that near one in the helicopter on his way to Atlantis and they'd stayed away even as he destroyed paper target after paper target with automatic weapons fire, though he knew the real test would come when he would need to shoot at an actual living thing. And it wasn't like he could go out and find something alive to shoot at, either. His mettle would have to wait to be tested on the battle field with a whispered prayer that it wouldn't completely abandon him when the time came to stare down his scope at an actual living target.

"Hey, I was thinking about something," John brought up as he weaved away from a surprise jab Fitzpatrick threw at him.

They were down in the training facility today, packed into boxing gloves and protective headgear and circling each other in the elevated boxing ring located in one corner of the gym. Fitzpatrick had put a lot of power behind the punch and the big guy had to stumble forward slightly to keep his footing. He had a big smile on his face though, because John had seen the attack coming from a mile away. He was getting better at this.

"What's up?" Fitzpatrick asked and raised his gloves up to protect his face as they resumed their circling.

"I was just thinking about Atlantis and what might happen the first time I get into a fire fight."

Fitzpatrick feinted suddenly and John tensed, ready to knock it away, but the blow didn't come.

"You expecting to get into a lot of those? Firefights, I mean?"

"Well, no, I guess not, but when I used to try and go hunting with this buddy of mine back home I'd choke up every time it came down to actually shooting something..."

"What would happen?" Fitzpatrick asked and he easily blocked John's next pathetic attempt at a jab as his thoughts began to wander.

"I'd get one of those damn panic attacks."

John made another move, glove connecting with the side of Fitzpatrick's jaw, but the Seal threw his head back at the last second and John's glove glanced off. He recovered quickly though and they resumed their prance around the ring.

"Oh, you mean one of those panic attacks I haven't seen you have in days?" Fitzpatrick smiled, feinting a hit the next moment and getting John to put his gloves back up to protect his face. "One of those panic attacks?"

"Hey, just because I haven't had one lately, doesn't mean I'll never have one again."

"Said the patient to the psychiatrist," Fitzpatrick snorted with a smirk. John threw an impressive right hook, but Fitzpatrick ducked and landed a blow to John's midsection as he spun around on the momentum of his missed swing, doubling him over for a moment.

"Come on Sheppard, stay on your toes! Pay attention to body language. I know I have a tell. Find it and I'll never take you by surprise again."

"Speaking of taking me by surprise," he said, straightening up and keeping his eyes on Fitzpatrick to watch him closely, "have you given any more thought about reenlisting? I hear the Atlantis Expedition leader is a great guy and that the USSF is oh so much fun to be a part of."

Fitzpatrick chuckled. "I've given it some thought."

"And?"

"And, I'm still giving it some thought."

Fitzpatrick lunged, but John had been paying attention while he was talking and thought he'd caught the tell the former Seal was talking about. Right before he made a move, he paused ever so slightly to inhale.

"Gotcha," John mumbled, not meaning to say it out loud and Fitzpatrick smiled wide before launching into an all out attack that ended with John in a head lock and Fitzpatrick sniggering above him.

"Say Uncle!"

"Alright!" John laughed. "Uncle!" and Fitzpatrick released him.

"Close, but no cigar," the kid said with a glint in his eye but John just acted like he didn't even see it. He brought his gloves back up near his face, but Fitzpatrick shook his head and started for the edge of the ring. Apparently they were finished.

"So, have you figured out what's causing your panic attacks yet?" Fitzpatrick asked once they'd reached the corner where the water and the rest of their gear was sitting. John tossed his gloves into his duffel and thought about how best to answer.

"I don't know… some kind of PTSD, I imagine?" He guessed with a shrug. He'd seen guys effected by it. Had a problem with it himself for a while after that crap in Afghanistan even, only this time around it was coming with a big side order of involuntary mass murder.

"So you really are as smart as everyone keeps telling me." Fitzpatrick smirked as he peeled off his helmet. His red hair was sticking up at every angle imaginable and John would have ribbed him about it had their conversation not just taken a turn in a direction he was no longer comfortable with.

"I'm a soldier," he said simply and Fitzpatrick nodded.

"And yet most of us are never man enough to admit that it's an actual thing we deal with." The way Fitzpatrick said it had John wondering if the former Seal had personal experience with it himself.

"But don't worry, John," Fitzpatrick continued, mistaking John's silence for worry. "You're doing exactly what you need to do to work through it. What I think we need to do is figure out some way for you to be able to live with the past but not have it overwhelm you every time you close your eyes or get into an intense situation. That's what seems to cause it, right? Stress?"

John nodded. "Seems to."

"So what we need to do is put you into some kind of stressful situation with your firearm so we can see how you're going to react."

"Any suggestions?"

"We could try paintball," Fitzpatrick suggested thoughtfully. "That would give us an environment that's not going to put you in any real danger, but can still simulate battle. If I can organize it, would you want to try?

"Hell yeah!"

It was a really good suggestion, actually. He wasn't comfortable with the idea of going to Pegasus unprepared and this way he'd have a way to test himself. A way to find out if he really was on the mend like Fitzpatrick seemed to believe. Plus, if the former Petty Officer could convince Carson and Rodney to go along, that would make it all the more interesting... but then again, maybe not. He could just imagine what they would look like: a bunch of old farts running around a paintball arena hitting each other in their arthritic joints... He kept forgetting he wasn't 35 anymore.

"Excellent," Fitzpatrick was saying, "I'll set it up." John nodded and started to unwrap his hands, but the Seal stopped him.

"Why don't you leave them wrapped? You can work the bag for a while." John wiggled his sore fingers for a minute, apologizing to them for the continued abuse, then shoved them back into his gloves to head over to the punching bags.

Everything on him was sore these days. Fitzpatrick wasn't pulling any punches and he didn't dare argue as the former Seal lead him over to the corner of the gym where the bags were kept. Fitzpatrick chose one and stood behind it and John went through the various drills the former Seal threw at him from around the bag. It was one of his favorite exercises and he had a sneaky suspicion that it was why Fitzpatrick had him on it so often. The sand filled bag before him wasn't something he could hurt and he could wail away at it with all the anger and frustration he had in him without ever having to stop and say he was sorry.

"So, you seem to have the panic attacks under control. What about the nightmares you were having? Any more of those?"

"No, actually," he replied with surprise coloring his voice.

He really hadn't. In fact, he'd slept the last few nights all the way through without even dreaming and hadn't even bothered to notice. He knew a lot of it had to do with the insane physical demands he was putting on his body at the moment, but he thought he had an idea on what it really boiled down to. That big, ugly _thing_ that used to live at the center of him was slowly being chipped away by Rodney and Carson, Lorne and Fitzpatrick, and sometimes, when he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine that it had never been inside of him in the first place. There were still things that blindsided him every so often. Memories that would reach up from the past and choke him when he least expected it, but John could no longer deny that he was starting to feel something that looked and felt a little like - dare he say it and tempt fate further - peace.

"I haven't had a nightmare since my first day back," he mused and landed another heavy punch to the bag that sent Fitzpatrick stumbling back half a step. As nice a revelation as being nightmare free was, John couldn't remember ever telling Fitzpatrick about the dreams that plagued his sleep at times.

The fact the former Seal had brought it up meant that he was talking to people behind John's back and he wasn't sure how he felt about that. The kid who was on watch by the VIP room the morning he'd woken up screaming must have said something and Rodney himself admitted to talking to Fitzpatrick about him. He understood that the former Seal needed to know about what was going on with him, especially the things no amount of prodding was ever going to get John to admit to unless ambushed like he was being now, but he was having a hard time not seeing it as an invasion of his privacy. The IOA and the SGC, they needed to know he could handle all this, so John would endure it and let Fitzpatrick play his head games, but it didn't mean he had to like it. John had been keeping people at arm's length for nearly 20 years, and even before that (if he was perfectly honest with himself) so he could see why he was having a problem with all of this. There were a few people over the years that had managed to break through his defenses and he let one such person's face swim up in his thoughts as he pounded away at the bag.

Carrie, despite all of his best efforts, had seen through all the bullshit and though things had never passed between them verbally, she'd picked up on it other ways. As much as he would love to see that woman again and share everything that had happened to him these past few weeks with her, there was another part of him that didn't want her anywhere near it. If Lorne's man had found that the individual responsible for sabotaging the Atlantis Expedition was going after people John cared about to get at him, and Carrie had to be brought into protective custody, he wasn't sure if he could handle it. She would want to know about the events that had lead them all to that moment and he would tell her because he owed her that much at least, and then she would know that he had been involved in one of the most devastating events in human history... and she would hate him for it.

 _'But maybe not._ ' that little voice in his head said suddenly and without warning, and the rhythm of John's fists against the bag nearly faltered. It was surprising, hearing that little voice sound so optimistic when for so long it had been nothing but dark and foreboding.

Maybe Carrie would be able to forgive him like everyone else on base seemed to be able to do. Maybe...

"Hey! Sheppard! Where are you dude?" Fitzpatrick called to him a second later and John caught the former Seal's eyes from around the bag before resuming his assault.

"Just thinking shit over," he mumbled and redoubled his efforts at trying to destroy the sand filled bag hanging from the ceiling in front of him.

"You wanna talk about it?" Fitzpatrick offered, face taking on an amused expression as he silently acknowledged how clichéd the question had sounded. The Seal stepped away from the bag and John stopped its momentum with a shoulder when it swung back his way. He was sweaty and out of breath and he leaned against it heavily.

"So, there's this woman…" he started, not really believing that he was about to share it all with the likes of Fitzpatrick so soon after deciding he was pissed at the kid for wanting to know everything.

"The girlfriend in Wisconsin?" The former Seal asked and John narrowed his eyes.

"How'd you know that?"

Fitzpatrick smiled. "I'm not stupid John. And I can't imagine someone like you going 18 plus years without having a relationship."

John looked away.

"Were you guys close?"

"I suppose…"

"You don't sound very convinced."

"It's just... she doesn't know anything about what I do here and I'm just wondering how she'd react if she ever found out."

"You mean if she knew you had been involved in what happened with the Wraith." Fitzpatrick stated, seemingly reading John's thoughts and calling it what it was despite his best efforts at dancing around what he really meant.

"Yeah."

"Do you blame yourself for everything that happened, John?"

 _Jesus._ "...for a long time I did, I guess."

"Even though you had no knowledge of what they were making you do?"

"I don't know…" he said, exasperated with the questions already even though he knew he needed to face them. He punched idly at the bag beside him again and it swung noisily on its chain. "I was still the one in the chair. It was my drones that destroyed all those ships."

"You and that kid in the control chair at Area 51, right?"

"I guess," he'd nearly forgotten all about that.

"Do you think that kid they stuck in the chair is to blame at all?"

"Couldn't tell you, never met the guy." He deflected a little flippantly and Fitzpatrick let out a frustrated sigh which was pretty out of character for the normally unflappable formal Seal.

"Alright then, look at it this way," he went on in spite of John's attitude. "Would you have blamed, let's say, Dr. McKay if he had been the one flying the city that day?"

John had never really stopped to think of it that way and the answer was, of course, _absolutely not_. In fact, he'd probably be the first one to grab Rodney's shoulders and tell him that none of it was his fault the moment he tried to say that it was… just like everyone was going to him now...

"Well shit," he muttered, knowing he'd been bested and Fitzpatrick let out one of his rare laughs.

"See, sometimes all it takes is a different perspective," Fitzpatrick said, coming over to pound him on the back with a good-natured palm.

"There are people out there who really are to blame, John. And they are certainly not you or that poor kid they stuck in the chair down on Earth. It was the decision makers and those that let it happen, not the poor souls they tricked into executing that decision, that are the true villains of our story, wouldn't you agree?"

"I suppose there's something to what you're saying..."

Fitzpatrick smiled crookedly. "Well then maybe there's hope for you yet, Sheppard."


	17. Poisoning the Well

John Sheppard's world had been reduced to meetings, beatings, debriefings, and flights. For nearly two weeks he'd been working his ass off, so when Rodney, Carson and Lorne had suggested dinner in the mess followed by a few episodes of M*A*S*H with some of the other members of the expedition that evening, John had eagerly agreed. He was dangerously close to a burn out and hadn't been able to take a moment for himself in a good long while so a night out with the boys actually sounded like a pretty good idea. So he'd agreed... though his first instinct had been to refuse. Fitzpatrick was pushing him hard and that afternoon his knee had decided to give out on him again, and he'd been sent back to his bunk with an order to rest and give it a break. But sitting around alone in his room just didn't seem like the best use of a rare free evening. All he had in his quarters to keep himself busy were the copious amounts of USSF brochures the leaders of his classes had plied him with earlier in the day and an ancient tube TV bolted to the wall just inside the door. The set was old and only got in a few fuzzy and unreliable channels, but they had been enough to get John to swear off TV for good this time. Before the war he'd been a big fan of movies but not so much the boob tube (as an old nanny of his used to call it). There just wasn't any point in getting involved with a series he'd never be around to watch the end of and half the time the networks seemed to cancel the good ones in their prime anyway. But maybe it was the program he'd decided to sit down and try first that had ruined TV for him forever. The network showing it had called it a 'retro' reality TV show from back in the days before the war and John was pretty sorry for the people of Earth who'd had to sit through it in the first place. It was some series called Here Comes Honey Boo-Boo and John had turned it off the moment one of the characters began sneezing all over the turkey she was about to serve her family. So yeah, John would stick with his simple life of no TV except for the occasional M*A*S*H rerun with the members of his expedition.

Referring to it as 'his expedition', even when it was just some fleeting thought, still sounded weird inside his head. Joining everyone tonight was probably a good idea because John figured it was high time he started to get to know the people who would be under him and who would be traveling to Pegasus with him. Soldiers John could handle - he wasn't worried about that (especially not with the fantastic 2IC he was getting in Lorne). Scientists though... well, they were a whole different breed and one that John knew very little about. Rodney would be around to help, but John's geek speak was still a little rusty and he worried about all the trouble curious scientists could get into on the different planets the off-world teams visited. He would be responsible for their safety and that was a heavy burden, even though most of them knew and understood what they were getting themselves into. And those who didn't, well John was already making plans in his head about what he would say them all to make sure they were properly prepared. But regardless of all that, tonight was still a good opportunity to meet some of the people he'd be working with and, if he played his cards right, maybe even develop a friendly report with a few of them.

Whenever John thought about his duties on Atlantis, his thoughts always strayed over to Elizabeth Weir and Samantha Carter; two women he both admired, and missed. When Elizabeth had fallen to the replicators, John had been devastated, even if he didn't show any outward signs of it. Elizabeth had been his friend and before that day with the Wraith he'd counted his failure with her as his most grievous and to this day there was still a bit of him that was angry at how it had all ended. She deserved a better conclusion to her story then just floating in empty space for all eternity. And the same went for Samantha Carter.

That was another 'what if' moment John thought on at times. He knew if Carter had just been allowed to keep her command on Atlantis instead of being yanked from it to be replaced by Woolsey at the pinnacle of her career, things would have turned out very, very differently 20 years ago. Carter would have told the IOA and whomever had given that final order to stuff it and she would have had every member of the Atlantis Expedition backing her up. Richard Woolsey had been a fool in that one respect. A weak minded dupe to think that they all wouldn't have done everything in their power to move heaven and earth to try and find another way to save mankind from the Wraith rather than letting two billion people perish in an instant. Rodney had told John that Richard Woolsey had convinced the congressional committee that he had no knowledge of what the rouge members of the IOA had done, but John couldn't decide if he believed it or not. He figured he would never get the chance to find out though, because there was no way in hell he was ever getting near that man again. There had been enough bloodshed wrought by his cowardice and John would be damned if he'd let that bastard make a cold blooded killer out of him yet.

Woolsey the bastard notwithstanding, coming after such strong leaders on Atlantis was a daunting task to John. Both Elizabeth Weir and Samantha Carter had been so at ease with their respective roles within the city and John would be the first to admit that he lacked any of that finesses within himself. With Elizabeth it had been her natural grace with peacekeeping that had kept them out of countless scrapes and Carter, well she had been the best of both worlds: militarily and scientifically competent. Plus, she knew how to handle Rodney McKay and that was a feat within itself.

And then there was John Sheppard.

John knew how to handle himself on the battle field, sure. He could dismantle and redress any gun in the Cheyenne mountain armory faster than any other man on base even after all these years, but give him a room full of bickering diplomats, and you could kiss your sweet ass goodbye. He had a head for the tactical, not the gentle hand needed for intergalactic peace and he was worried. And not just for himself but for the people of Earth as well. He was too... uncivilized to be a good representative, too likely to commit some unforgivable cultural faux pas or say the wrong thing at the wrong time. Carter and Weir seemed to take to that aspect of the job like horses to water, but not John and he was terrified. And yet, the IOA and the SGC had still offered him the position which meant that there was someone out there who believed that he could handle this and John figured he owed it to them to at least try and make this work.

John had been training all day so when dinner time rolled around he hit the showers to wash away the grime of the day then headed down to the larger Mess located on Level 22 of the SGC. He was in desperate need of a decent meal as he'd been existing on power bars scarfed down between meetings for the better part of a week and if he landed himself in the infirmary again, Carson was going to have his ass. What he needed was a chance to refuel and recharge and the thought of doing both with men he held in high regard had John picking up his pace down the corridor a bit.

As John neared the mess hall he could already tell it was full, the sound of chinking silverware against ceramic reaching him even in the hallway, along with the low muted rumble of voices. He'd never been in the mess during the busy time. He usually took late lunches, if he got them at all, and was almost overwhelmed by the sheer number of people he saw when he finally rounded the corner and ducked inside. It was like everyone and their brother had decided to have dinner at the same time and John wondered if there was anyone else left in the mountain who wasn't in the mess. Every table was full and John spied the men he was looking for over in one far corner. Rodney raised a hand in greeting and John nodded in acknowledgement before tiling his head toward the food line letting them know he was going to grab his grub before heading over. Rodney indicated he understood and John got in line. When he accidently bumped into the person in front of him the woman ahead of him rounded on him angrily.

"Wanna watch where you're goin' pal?" She said, and John instantly recognized her. She must have realized who he was as well because her face reddened and she ducked her head in embarrassment before remembering herself a second later to stiffen into a salute.

"Ah, the girl with the crutches who didn't want help," he said with a chuckle. "At ease soldier." The young lieutenant had been down in the training facility his first day back when he'd met Carson there for his physical. He could still remember the look she'd given him when he'd tried to steady her on her crutches after she'd almost fallen.

"And you're the Brigadier General I was a complete ass to the other day," she smiled sheepishly before wincing. "Am I allowed to say 'ass' around a General?"

"Don't worry about it," John laughed again. "I'm glad to see you're off your crutches."

"Yeah, well, that Dr. Beckett, he sure knows his shit. I'm mean stuff... oh christ."

John smiled. This girl was a riot. "So are you on an SG team or are you going to be a member of the Atlantis expedition?"

The girl's eyes went wide for a moment. "Well, I was _hoping_ to go to Atlantis, but now I'm not so sure. I guess it all depends on if I offended the expedition leader or not. Still trying to figure that part out." The line in front of them shifted and they both took a few steps forward.

"I hear he's a decent enough guy," John replied with a wink. "My guess is he's forgotten all about it by now."

His new friend smiled and held out a hand. "I'm Macy."

"I remember," he said back and she must have picked up on his bemusement because she stiffened again.

"Apologies Brigadier General Sheppard. I'm Lieutenant Macy Hayden." He knew they were a lot more lax with etiquette at the SGC but the young lieutenant standing in front of him was botching it pretty spectacularly and John wondered briefly if she was maybe the daughter of some high ranking USSF officer. Not that he really cared. He'd never been one of those people who was a stickler for protocol. Besides, he was kind of getting a kick out of her.

"I know this might sound like a stupid question," the young lieutenant said, grabbing a tray when they finally reached the start of the food line, "but don't you guys have an officer's mess on base or something? I'd of thought that you would want to eat there and not over here with us peons."

The smells coming from the kitchen finally hit John full on and his stomach rumbled greedily. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a decent meal and grabbed a tray after Macy in eager anticipation.

"If there is one, I've never found it. Besides, all my friends are peons," he teased a little and Hayden smiled at him over her shoulder as she plopped a gelatinous mound of some unidentifiable side dish into one of the squares of her tray. The mess hall food line was separated into various sections with all manner of dinner options and John skipped by that particular one trying not to pay too much attention to how very unappetizing everything looked up close. He went for the salad instead, figuring it was the safest.

"Is the food better or worse on Atlantis?" She continued, crinkling her nose up at something that looked to be some kind of chicken pot pie gone horribly wrong, trapped behind the serving line glass. "'Cause I don't think it gets any worse than this."

"Depends," John shrugged, going for a halfway decent looking piece of grilled chicken to add to his salad. "Sometimes we hit the jackpot while exploring other planets and sometimes its Tuna Surprise just like back home at the good ol' SGC."

"Well let's hope it's the former for all our sakes," she replied with a grimace at the rest of her options and turned away to pay the bored looking woman standing behind the register complete with too tight hairnet and a scowl. John set his tray down on the line to fish his wallet from out of his pocket, but the elderly woman just waved him away with a smile and a wink and Hayden looked him over incredulously when he joined her again.

"Wow," Macy said, impressed. "You must be special cause I've been here a while now and that woman never gives anyone anything for free. She charged my friend Meg for a grape once. One grape!"

John opened his mouth to reply but caught Rodney's impatient eyes from across the hall and turned to say his goodbyes.

"Well Lieutenant Hayden, I'm glad you're off your crutches and hopefully I'll see you on Atlantis."

"You got it, Sir. And thanks." She said the last bit with a flush coloring her cheeks and left him to head over to the table of her friends waiving at her to join them.

John headed over to his own table of ageing friends and tried not to trip over the chair legs congesting the paths between tables. The hall was full of people and they were all talking at the same time but no one was paying any attention to him and for the first time since arriving back at the SGC John finally felt like he was just another cog in the complex machine that made up Stargate Command; no different and no less valuable than any of the other parts around him. When he finally reached the table he clattered his tray down on the tabletop and took the empty seat with an almost smile.

"You just couldn't help yourself could you," Rodney said, shaking his head and John cocked an eyebrow in his direction.

"What are you talkin' about McKay?"

"That girl you were flirting with up in the dinner line," he responded smugly.

"Oh for the love of... For your information, _Rodney,_ " John said, pointing a finger and ignoring the fact that Lorne was hiding a laugh behind his napkin, "I was not flirting with her. I'm old enough to be her father!"

"Well, that's not what it looked like from over here!"

"Just because I..."

"Gentlemen!" Carson interrupted and John turned his head to tell the doc to stay the hell out of it but stopped midsentence when his eyes were drawn to what Carson had on his own dinner tray. It looked like some kind of cross between sausage and a meatloaf packed into some kind of casing and Carson was half way through sawing it in half.

"What the hell is that thing?" He asked with eyebrows raised and Rodney groaned beside him.

"Oh here we go," the scientist said on a sigh, but John ignored him and turned around to face Carson full on.

"That my friend," the doc smiled at him proudly, "is a haggis."

"You just had to ask, didn't you?" Lorne laughed and John looked back and forth between Rodney's disgusted face and Lorne's amused one.

"Okay, what'd I miss?"

"He won't shut up about... what did you call it, Carson? 'The virulent lack of fine Scottish cuisine in the states'?" Rodney groused. "He's been complaining about it for _weeks_."

John let his eyes fall back on the hideous thing now broken open and lying on full display across Carson's tray.

"Don't you turn your nose up at somethin' ye havenea even tried!" Carson snapped, shooting Rodney a scathing look for the scientist's apparent disregard for his dinner selection. "Haggis is delicious, it just gets a bad rap."

"Could have something to do with the fact that it's cooked in the animal's own stomach, Carson," Lorne pointed out and John nearly shuddered, eying the thing with trepidation as Carson continued his surgery on it.

"I just don't understand how you can eat that crap, Carson. It looks disgusting!" Rodney sniffed melodramatically over the haggis then waived a hand in front of his nose. "Smells disgusting too."

"I'm going to have to agree with Rodney for once, Carson," John said, earning a sharp look from the doctor. "I don't know whether to tell you to eat it, or kill it."

"Make all the fun ya want you three, but in Scotland this is a delicacy. I have it flown in 'specially from Edinburgh. Ya cannea seem to get a decent haggis anywhere 'round here anymore." Carson loaded a fork from within the dissected monstrosity on his tray and lifted a full bite to his mouth. "Mmmm, perfection."

John fought back against his gag reflex and looked away. He'd lost his appetite and suddenly the salad on his own tray looked completely limp and his chicken, rubbery and undercooked. He pushed the tray away with a sigh.

"Carson, you're taste in food aside, where have you been for the past few days," Rodney changed the subject. "I went to ask you a question the other day and they told me you were off base."

Carson finished chewing but paused for a moment as if the bite hadn't gone down very easily. When he choked a little on it, Lorne reached over and pounded him on the back to help. Carson shot him a thankful glance and, after a sip of water, answered.

"It's all very exciting but you must keep it between us for a while yet, alright?" Beckett spoke softly, eyeing the tables around them and leaning in closer. "I shouldnea be talking about this here at all, but I've been itchin' to tell you all about this for days. I've been off base interviewing fellows for my ATA gene research!"

"So you're going to go ahead with it then?" Rodney asked a little excitedly, leaning forward as well so that the crowd around them wouldn't overhear.

"Aye. I've given it some thought... a lot of thought actually, and I've decided I'll give it another go. This new IOA seems trustworthy enough and I can take steps to make sure tha' what happened at Area 51 doesnea get repeated. I want ta do the work m'self..." Carson had to pause a moment to cough into his hand, his last bite of the foul smelling haggis apparently still giving him trouble, "...before they start lettin' some two-bit hack have a go at my research."

"I would have respected your decision either way, Carson," John put in after the doctor finished and went for more water, "but I gotta say, I'm kind of glad you're starting it up again. This whole 'being the only one who can fly Atlantis home' thing is getting pretty old."

"Weel, I'm afraid you might be waiting for a good long while on that, laddie. Research like mine," he paused again to swallow hard and pull in a breath, "can take years to perfect and then there's a chance it might not even work a'tall." Carson let the fork he was lifting to his mouth fall back to his plate and he pounded a fist against his chest and coughed again, wincing as he did it.

"Wrong pipe Doc?" Lorne asked, and Carson took another swig of water.

"M'fine now," he promised after draining the bottle. "So that's where I've been. There are some promising kids in the genetics program at Brown that might be suitable for the work and willing to come with me to Pegasus."

"Bet that's a fun conversation to have," Rodney snorted sarcastically. "Hi kids! Wanna come to another galaxy where crazy Space Vampires might attack us all at any given moment and suck the lives right out of our chests? Yeah, bet they're just lining up for _that_ research project."

"Space Vampires, Rodney?" John laughed. "Really?"

"Well that's what they are." The scientist responded with a nonchalant shrug and John just shook his head.

"Any reason you've not touched your food there, Sheppard?" Carson cut in before John could start in again on Rodney and he pulled his tray back in towards him, determined to get some protein into his body despite the steaming pile of disgusting looking haggis starting at him from the next tray over. Carson watched him carefully until he started attacking his salad with all the gusto he could manage after their conversation and, apparently satisfied, Carson finally looked away.

"Speakin' of research, Rodney," the doc went on, turning to McKay. "How goes the work you're doin' with the Wormhole drive?"

"It's getting there," Rodney sighed. "I've got a lot of theories, just no way of testing them. I keep trying to talk Landry into letting me use the city, but he seems to have this unfounded fear that I'm going to blow her up or something."

"Huh, I wonder what gave him _that_ idea," Lorne said with a conspiratorial smirk and Rodney's face reddened slightly.

"That was not my fault," the scientist practically growled and Lorne laughed outright.

"What happened?" Carson and John both asked at the same time and, after a final scathing look over at the still giggling Colonel Lorne, Rodney answered. Well, kind of.

He cast his eyes around the packed room with a scowl. "Ask me some other time." There were apparently too many people gathered around them for Rodney to be comfortable sharing that particular tale.

John pulled his attention back to his tray and jabbed at a piece of chicken with his fork. It was dry and pretty tasteless, but washed down with a swig of the soda he'd grabbed from the food line along with his grub, and it was somewhat tolerable. There was a little town down at the base of the mountain with a few restaurants and John made a mental note to suggest that they all go down there one night for dinner in the coming weeks. The town was small and there weren't a lot of choices, but anything was better than the monotonous base food he was quickly growing board with.

"Well guys," Lorne said, stretching his arms and patting a full belly (at least someone had enjoyed their meal), "I promised to set up the AV equipment in the new conference room and get it ready for the M*A*S*H marathon tonight. Anyone want to join me?"

Rodney was the first to speak up. "I've actually got a few things to take care of first. How about I..."

"Oh bullshit, Rodney!" John protested, but with a smile. "You just don't want to have to help set up."

"Hardly!" Rodney snapped back just as quickly. "All you need to do is turn the console on and queue up the DVDs. A third grader could do it. Lorne will be fine on his own."

"Gee, thanks Rodney." Lorne acted affronted, but it was hard to pull off with a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. Funny thing was, Rodney probably saw his remark as a compliment.

"Well, _I'm_ in, Lorne." John said with a nod and Carson piped in with his own agreement to help.

"Come on Rodney. You know you want to." John goaded and the scientist sighed dramatically.

"Alright _fine_ , but if you make me sit up in the AV booth all night changing out the discs, I'm never helping you again."

"I promise not to make you sit up in the AV booth all night changing out the discs, Rodney." Lorne promised with his hand in the air as if taking oath. "And I appreciate you guys coming with me."

The three friends got up from their seats to clear away their trays and Carson, John noted, hadn't finished his haggis. When it disappeared down the hole of the trash can, John hoped he'd never have to see the likes of it ever again.

..

\oO0Oo/

..

"Hey John, can I talk to you for a minute," Rodney asked as the three friends made their way through the lower levels of the SGC and towards the conference room where the M*A*S*H marathon was to be held. John let his pace slow so that he fell back behind Carson and Lorne and Rodney came up beside him.

"Sure buddy, what's up?"

"I was just wondering... did you happen to talk to Landry about Torren joining the expedition?" Rodney asked, and John stiffened. He thought back on his conversation with Landry a few days ago and worried suddenly that he'd unintentionally crossed some boundary of Rodney's by doing so.

"I did," he started cautiously. "I hope that was okay."

"No, it's great actually," Rodney assured him. "If you had said something to him, I wanted to make sure I thanked you for it. The paperwork was approved yesterday and TJ should be here by next week!"

"That's great buddy! I'm happy to hear it." He clapped a hand on Rodney's shoulder.

"Well, I appreciate the fact that you talked to Landry for me. I have a feeling that made all the difference."

"I don't know Rodney," John said thoughtfully. "I wouldn't be so sure."

"What to do you mean by that?" Rodney's eyes went wide with panic for a moment and John quickly explained.

"Just that Landry seems to be on the up and up a lot more than we give him credit for. When I asked him about making sure Torren's transfer went through, he seemed to know exactly why I was asking."

"He said something!?" The panic was back and John let out an exasperated breath.

"No, Rodney, he just got that look in his eye like he knew exactly what I was up to."

"Oh yeah," Rodney chuckled a second later, " _the look_. I'm well aware of it, as are most of the people on this base anymore. Still, no one besides you and Carson should know that I have a son..."

"Could be the fact that the kid's name is TJ McKay, Rodney. That's kind of a dead giveaway so you can't fault the guy for putting two and two together."

"Oh come on Sheppard!" Rodney exclaimed with mock affront, "Give me at least a little credit here! I mean, _hello_ , astrophysicist. We gave him Diane's maiden name. It cut down on the questions and in a pinch we would just tell people it was his birth mother's family name."

"Well that'll come in handy when arrives on base. Hey, I didn't even think to ask, do you have a picture of him?" John asked and Rodney's face lit up.

"Yeah, actually!" The scientist beamed, fishing his wallet out of the back pocket of his BDU pants. He pulled a creased and careworn photograph from the folds of his wallet and handed it over to John.

The photo was small, and faded like it had been through the wash a time or two, but the face smiling up at him from the picture was still as clear as ever. Torren John Emmagan was the spitting image of his mother and John stared down at the photograph clutched in his hand, something pulling at the center of his chest. "That's one good looking kid, Rodney." He said thickly and handed the photo back to the scientist.

"I like to think so," Rodney replied as he looked down at the picture with another proud smile. "Though I can't really take any credit for that. Now his brain on the other hand..."

Oh here we go. "Let me guess," John smiled. "Baby Einstein DVDs 24/7 and cognitive development exercises?"

Rodney's face fell. "Diane wouldn't let me."

John threw his head back and laughed. "Seriously?" But Rodney only looked away with a frown. John _had_ to meet this woman.

"I was tough on him when it came to school, though. That was always top priority."

"I can imagine," John chuckled and wiped away the moisture that had gathered at the sides of his eyes from laughing. He could just picture Rodney's idea of a fun summer afternoon spent at the play ground collecting samples of sand and naming all the grains after elements on the Periodic Table of Elements, Torren having to help put them in the property order before he was allowed to go and play on the swings like all the other kids. "I'm really looking forward to meeting him."

"You're gonna love him, John. He's so much like Teyla sometimes, it's not even funny."

"It's nice to think that a little piece of her still exists, ya know?" John waxed a little wistfully and Rodney nodded solemnly beside him.

"When we were on that Hive, it never even occurred to me about TJ being back on Atlantis. It wasn't until after, when Kanaan came up to me to ask where she was..." Rodney paused and John stayed silent beside him. He'd never heard this part of the story before. "...But I couldn't tell him. I sent him over to find you."

"Ah," John said quietly.

After the Super Hive had been destroyed and word had reached Atlantis that other Wraith ships had received the coordinates to Earth and were attacking, it had been utter chaos. In the mad scramble to get Atlantis turned around, a lot of the more minor details of that day had kind of coalesced into this one heaping mess of jumbled moments in John's head. Rodney's subtle reminder of one particularly horrible part of that day had pieces starting to break away from the main body of the mass: Kanaan, standing in the middle of a corridor, blocking John's way with a squirming Torren John clutched in his trembling arms. A determined refusal to move until he was told exactly what had just happened to the mother of his child. There was a reason John had blocked those particular memories from his mind. He could remember the look on Kanaan's face now as the prospect of a life without Teyla ran through the man's thoughts on overdrive and couldn't help but wonder if that was perhaps the exact moment Kanaan had entertained the idea of leaving his young son behind. Jesus, fate really was fickle, wasn't she?"

"I'm sorry about all that," Rodney said from beside him, pulling John from his thoughts. "I keep doing that to you, don't I?"

"What?" he rasped, clearing his through of the emotion that tried to clog it.

"I keep ambushing you in hallways. It's not intentional, I swear."

"Don't worry about it, Rodney," John smiled. "According to Fitzpatrick, I need to face all of this crap anyways. It's all part of the "healing process"." John did the air quotes and everything.

"Well it's all a load of crap, if you ask me," Rodney muttered.

"Oh?" He let his eyebrows raise with the question. Fitzpatrick's method was actually helping so he was interested to hear what Rodney had to say next.

"I don't mean for you, John. I just mean in general. Psychology is just a bunch of wanna be scientists sitting around trying to get us all to share our feelings with each other. Maybe it's working for you, but I don't put much stock into it."

Leave it to Rodney McKay to look down his nose at any branch of science that wasn't his own. John had half a mind to get into a debate with the scientist over his easy dismissal of that particular field of medicine, but decided against it in the end. It had been a long day already and they were almost to the conference room anyway.

Being a member of the Stargate program was no walk in the park. The members of the off-world teams in the Stargate and Atlantis programs had demanding and dangerous jobs and there never was any guarantee that they would make it back home after stepping through that event horizon. As was the case with any high-stakes, high-stress job, it was important to find some sort of outlet for all that pressure. John had found his on the running track and in the cockpit of a Puddle Jumper or an F302. For Ronan it had been found in the sparring sessions he conducted with the Marines on Atlantis and Teyla found hers in the Bantos. They all had managed to find some way to diffuse the time bombs they would bring back with them on especially difficult missions and the SGC had had the good sense to recognize the need for allowing their people to decompress in any way they saw fit: Be it drinks at the Officer's Club or an all night M*A*S*H marathon in a brand new, state of the art conference room. It was surprising really. The government rarely ever got it right, but the SGC had done a good thing here and John was already making plans of his own to create an officer's club on Atlantis.

When John entered the low light of the conference room a moment later, he had to stand in the doorway for a second and blink into the dim light. He understood now why Landry had decided to take over a bit of the space from the old conference room for his office. This new one they had built was pretty damn impressive. Set up much the same way as the sunken lecture halls he remembered from his time at college, the auditorium like space could probably hold the whole of Cheyenne mountain without breaking a sweat and was equipped with a floor to ceiling white wall that was perfect for screening movies. Everything was controlled from a smoky glassed room set back behind the main seating and John could hear Lorne fumbling around inside of it. Rodney pushed past him to go and join him in the control booth, but John opted to stay out in the open space of the conference room and look around rather than get in the middle of all that technology mumbo-jumbo.

The conference room had stadium like seating that reminded John a little of the movie theater he used to take Carrie to about 45 minutes out of Blue River in Prairie Du Chien. Tall backed and comfortable looking leather chairs lined the various levels of the room, curving around the space in gentle symmetrical arcs. Each level was equipped with a long counter for laptops and taking notes and John headed over to the topmost level where Carson had taken a seat and was drumming his fingers against the tabletop in some absentminded rhythm. Rather than try to slide in behind Carson, John just settled himself on the topmost stair beside Beckett's chair and rested his elbows on his knees.

"Everything okay?" He asked the doctor who hadn't acknowledged him at all when he sat down. After a beat when Carson still didn't answer, John tried again.

"Carson!" He said a little more forcefully and the doctor finally turned his way.

"No need to yell. I'm sittin' right here, lad."

"You alright?" He asked, eyeing his friend skeptically. He couldn't really tell for sure in the low light of the conference room, but Carson looked kind of pale.

The physician shook his head as if to try and clear his thoughts and massaged his temples. "M'fine lad. Just a headache and that haggis from dinner isnea sitting too well with me either."

"Carson, that haggis wouldn't have sat well with anyone. I don't know how you can eat that shit." John said with a smile and Carson let out a low laugh that died on his lips a moment later as he stretched with a wince.

"Damn joints," he muttered and John chuckled.

"We're not as young as we used to be, that's for damn sure."

"That we are not. Funny thing is, I dinnea feel old. My mind tells me I can still do all of the things I used to. It's my body that cannea seem to keep up anymore." As if to reiterate his point, Carson flexed an elbow with a grimace.

"I watch those kids heading out on the SG teams and it's so weird to think that I won't be doing that on Atlantis anymore. I don't know if I'm ready to be behind a desk yet, Carson..." John glanced down at the hands he had clasped between his knees.

"Och, I wouldnea worry about tha' if I were you. The SGC is damn lucky to have you and you're going to do a bonny job, laddie. I just know it."

"Well thanks, Carson." John said genuinely, looking back over at his friend. "I appreciate that."

"Well it's the truth," Carson smiled then quickly changed the subject. "So when are we supposed to get this bloody show on the road? I've been looking forward to Starsky and Hutch all week."

"M*A*S*H you mean," John corrected and Carson glanced over at him as if confused.

"What did I say?"

"You said Starsky and Hutch."

"Did I now? I think you're goin' deaf in your old age Rodney," Carson snorted and John couldn't tell if he was being serious or making some kind of joke.

"You sure you're alright?" he asked again and Carson waived a hand through the air.

"Never better, Laddie," he replied in a sing-song voice. "Never better."

John opened his mouth to prod Carson further but movement behind them in the control booth had him glancing over his shoulder.

"John, please come in here and see if you can talk some sense into your friend before he breaks something important."

Rodney was standing outside the control booth with hands on his hips and looking irritated as hell and John sighed before pulling himself up from the step, not really sure what good he was going to be able to do in there. Carson got up as well to follow along behind John and the only indication he got that something was very, very wrong was the soft "oh" the doc issued before thumping heavily to the ground.

The word was softly spoken; issued as if Carson had suddenly found the simple solution to some complex problem. John whipped his head around at the sound of the thump and watched in horror as his friend's body began a vicious somersaulting dive down the several flights of steep stairs leading to the bottom of the conference room. John was off and headed down the stairs in an instant, even before Rodney had time to gasp and give a strangled cry from behind him. He took them two at a time, knee screaming at him with each jarring step as if someone was hacking unrelenting ice picks into the cartilage of the joint, but there was no time to worry about that now. Carson was nearly to the bottom and John couldn't tell if it was just his shocked brain playing tricks on him, or a figment of his own imagination, but he could swear he heard bones crack each and every time Carson's body connected heavily with a new step. But there was no way John was going to reach him in time to stop his descent and he skidded to a halt and fell to his knees on the floor beside Carson when he finally reached the bottom.

" _Carson_!" He choked and reached out towards his friend.

Carson's arm was broken, he could tell that right away, pale white bone protruding from torn flesh visible just below the man's left elbow. The tear was bleeding freely but Carson had landed in a heap on his side after finishing his fall down the stairs and the arm was partially trapped beneath him. John's first instinct was to roll the doctor onto his back, but muddled memories of half-absorbed medical training scratched at the back of his panicked thoughts and warned him not to do it. Carson could have some kind of spinal injury from the fall and if John moved him, he risked paralyzing the man or injuring him even further.

John pressed trembling and unsure fingertips to the exposed side of Carson's neck and tried to ignore his own heartbeat pounding away in his ears making it impossible to focus on anything else. At first there was nothing and he cursed crudely before pushing in harder against the older man's carotid and sending up a silent plea to the universe not to let Carson Beckett be dead. This wasn't supposed to happen again. One violent death was enough and Carson was supposed to go with him to Atlantis then die an old man in his bed. Carson Beckett had more people to save, John included, because he couldn't do this without the unwavering loyalty of his friends. No, he had too much left to do and John held his breath as he willed his fingertips to find some sign of life.

When the nerves in his fingers finally registered a swift yet thready rhythm, John let out a choked sob and let his head fall forward in relief.

"What the fuck just happened!" Rodney yelled with an uncharacteristic curse, coming to a halt just beside John on the floor and he pulled his eyes away from his friend's still form to blink up at Rodney.

"He just collapsed. We were talking about the marathon and he kept trying to tell me we were going to watch Starsky and Hutch. He was right behind me!"

"Should we move him?" Rodney asked, eyeing the growing pool of blood beneath Carson's arm with a swallow.

John shook his head. "That fall was really nasty. I don't want to hurt him further by moving him."

"Lorne went for help. They should be here any minute," Rodney promised and John nodded before focusing back on Carson when movement beneath him caught his eye. For one brief moment relief flooded John's system and he half expected to look down see Carson's eyes fluttering open with regained consciousness, but John's stomach bottomed out a second later when he realized it was the physician beginning to seize.

"Shit!" He panicked and knocked Rodney's hands away when the scientist moved in to try and hold Carson down.

"Don't do that!" He snapped, more forcefully then he intended to and Rodney yanked his hands back as if he'd just been scalded. The look he gave John next nearly broke his heart, but there were rules they had to follow. Rules were important and he ran them through his head. Rule # 1: don't try and hold a seizure victim down. Rule #2: remove any obstacles the victim might hit as the convulsed.

Shit.

"Make sure he keeps breathing, Rodney," John ordered and he set to work cushioning Carson's head as best he could with the jacket he tore away from his frame before pulling himself up off the floor to mercilessly shove tables, chairs and a large wooden podium out of the way of Carson's flailing limbs. Rodney's desperate eyes flitted back and forth between the job he'd been given and what John was doing until, finally convinced that everything was far enough away, John collapsed back down on the floor beside them, panting heavily. "Where the fuck is Lorne and the medical team!" he breathed, trying to ignore the lancing pains shooting up his thigh from his abused knee.

Rodney looked over at him again with panic painted plainly across his face as Carson's convulsions intensified and sent the doctor's body into painful looking paroxysms. John didn't know what to do with his hands.

"John... what if..."

"Don't go there, McKay," he stopped the man, trying not to get angry at the desperate tears he saw forming in the scientist's eyes. Rodney blinked them away and John cast his eyes up to the conference room entrance, relieved when Evan Lorne's form finally darkened the doorway.

"Medical team's two minutes out, guys!" he called down to them, running down the stairs and coming to a stop next to Rodney.

"Sheppard, is he... is he breathing?" John was pretty sure Lorne had meant to ask if Carson was still alive and John nodded up at him, directing his eyes at Rodney and Lorne got the hint.

"Rodney, why don't you let me take over," the colonel suggested gently, and Rodney gave up his spot on the floor without comment to stand off to the side in silence. Lorne pressed fingertips to Carson's throat and checked his pulse just as John had done what felt like hours before.

"It's too fast, isn't it," he asked when Evan finally pulled his hand away to glance back up at the conference room entrance as if willing the medical team to suddenly appear there out of thin air. But more disturbing: he didn't answer the question.

"They're gonna to be here soon, John," Lorne said strangely, emotion coloring his voice in a way John had never heard before. Carson Beckett meant a lot of things to a lot of people and John didn't think he could take losing him all over again. He'd already lived through that nightmare once before.

"They'll be here soon," Lorne repeated, a little less convincingly. "And they'll have the antidote."

"Antidote?" He asked stupidly and Loren's eyes widened for a second.

"He's been poisoned, John." he said and Rodney gasped. Both men kneeling on the floor looked over at the scientist.

"Of course," he said like his thoughts were far off.

Lorne recovered first and looked back over at John to explain. "This is exactly what happened to all the other ATA gene carriers when they were poisoned," Evan explained, looking down at Carson whose convulsions had slowed somewhat, though the docs extremities had begun to take on an unnerving cherry red color. "It's all the same symptoms but we prepared for this John," Lorne continued. "If we caught it in time and depending on how much he was dosed with, it might still be okay," but Lorne's eyes didn't back up his promises. They were wide and lost and John fought back a shudder before glancing down at Carson who's body had finally stilled.

"What is it?"

"Cyanide." Lorne answered simply and John closed his eyes and clenched his jaw.

Cyanide was the capsule the Russian spies in his favorite kinds of movies crushed between their teeth after being discovered. Cyanide was the poison secret agents kept on hand least they be taken alive and death was the better alternative to being held captive. It wasn't something that showed up on a military base and it certainly wasn't something that was used to murder his friends.

The seconds ticked by like hours but finally movement on the stairs above them heralded the arrival of the Medical Team and John was pushed unceremoniously out of the way and herded over to where Rodney stood, silent as the grave with his arms folded over his chest. John couldn't help but wonder if they'd made it in time, wonder if their actions (or lack thereof) had been enough to keep Carson Becket alive.

The medical team wasn't pulling any punches and he leaned against one of the tables he'd pushed out of the way to take some weight off his now throbbing knee. He watched the events unfolding before him in a kind of detached haze. It was so strange, being the one on the outside observing all the madness for once. Usually it was him lying on the floor beaten and broken to hell by some indigenous monster or crazy tribe of unwilling traders so it was an entirely eerie feeling being the one waiting helplessly on the sidelines to see if a friend lived or died. And he didn't like the feeling all that much.

But Lorne had said there was an antidote and John held tight to that one glimmer of hope out there in the darkness. This wasn't a death sentence. If fate gave them a break for once, there was a very real chance that Carson Beckett made it out of this alive and if he did, John was going to say all the things he'd been meaning to say to the man. He was going to thank him for telling Lorne about the guy sent to kill him. He would make sure Carson was aware of the countless lives he touched, not just by being a physician, but by being an unwavering friend. He would make sure Carson Beckett knew he was the best damn thing to ever come out of the Pegasus galaxy... the man just had to pull through so John could make good on those promises.

But when someone called for the portable defibrillator, that last glimmer of hope blinked out in an instant and John Sheppard was left alone in the dark.


	18. Life and Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, guys. I've been working 12 hour days and it took me a bit to get this one down. I hope you enjoy!

He sat in a chair in the cold, shoulders hunched with elbows resting on thighs and hands clasped between his knees. There was a clock bolted to the wall behind his head and its ceaseless ticking punctuated the silence of the room with a persistent yet precise rhythm.

And it wasn't right.

Time should have stopped instantly...

The universe should have paused, at least for a moment, to mourn for what it had lost. Not continue on as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

John Sheppard felt moisture pool in his eyes and for once, he didn't try to fight against it. Instead, he ran trembling fingers through his disheveled hair on a shuddering sigh. Let the dampness gather mass and weight on his lashes until the tears could hold their places no longer and released to splash down onto the grey stone tiles between his boots.

John could count on one hand the number of times he'd ever let himself cry, but there was no stopping those damn tears today. They were like some silent language of his grief and he watched them drip down onto the pale tile floor before running callused palms down over his face to wipe away the wet. When he pulled his hands away, the dampness there glistened in the garish overhead light of the morgue and he rubbed his fingertips together, contemplating the evidence of his anguish.

But it was all too raw to handle at the moment and he wiped the sorrow away on his trousers just as the door to the morgue opened on a soft hiss of air.

"...I thought I might find you here."

It was an odd statement because John was pretty sure the staff of the morgue had tracked this particular visitor down in the hopes that he could talk John into giving up his death bed vigil. It wasn't going to work though, he wanted to tell Rodney right then and there. He couldn't bear the idea of the coroner cutting into his oldest of friends just yet, and until he could wrap his head around that particular thought, they could all of them just keep the fuck out.

John collapsed back against the frigid metal of the chair he was sitting in on a bone weary release of breath that shook his entire frame and Rodney shuffled up to stand beside him.

"John," he said gently, "you need to come away now. There are things they need to come in here and do for him."

"I just…" he paused, unsure of how to put into words what he really needed in that moment; terrified of what his grief might make him say, "...just give me some damn time, would ya?"

"Come on John, you've been here for hours. It's time to come away now and get some rest."

John pulled his tired and red rimmed eyes away from the shrouded figure on the steel table beside him and regarded Rodney McKay heavily. The scientist was looking back at him with something like pity behind his own eyes and John resisted the urge to shake the man and scream at him for being so put together when their dead friend was lying only a few feet away, covered by nothing more than a thin white sheet.

"He shouldn't be alone, Rodney," he said thickly and turned away once more.

His grief was making him reckless where he needed to be strong.

He had to hold it together for the sake of the people around him. Needed to prove to Fitzpatrick and McKay that he could handle things like this because John Sheppard was about to lead an entire expedition into a wild and uncharted galaxy, and people were going to die. It was a cold hard fact, as real as the tears evaporating near his boots on this floor.

This would not be the last death scene he took part in but why, oh why, did it have to be Carson's? Why did he have to be the first casualty of a battle that wasn't even his to fight and before their doomed little expedition had even gotten off the ground?

John kept wanting to look around, half expecting the universe to have left some sort of token behind to make up for what it had taken from him. But it never did work that way, did it? The universe was as cold and unapologetic as the corpse beside him and lamentation, its only gift.

"He's in a better place now, John." Rodney said next and John snorted. Platitudes had never been one of Rodney McKay's strong suits.

"You don't believe that."

"Well okay, I don't. But my views on the afterlife aside, do you really think that if there was some kind of heaven, or glowey genetics lab in the sky waiting for him, that Carson would have stuck around this hell hole any longer than he had to? He's gone now, John."

Rodney's words were far from comforting, but John let them cut through a little of the heavy grey fog he was enveloped in.

"And the least you can do is leave the man in peace and let the morgue guys do their thing."

Rodney walked over to the autopsy table then and placed his hands on either side of Carson's shrouded body. When his hands gripped the edges of the sheet, John stiffened.

"Rodney... buddy? What are you doin'?"

"Have you taken a peak yet?" The scientist asked and before John could stop him, he lifted the shroud. "Ugh, that's disgusting. I've never seen one look so… dead before."

"Rodney, what the hell's the matter with you?" John sat forward in his chair in shock. "Knock it off."

The temperature in the morgue had plummeted. Ice water filled John's veins and he wondered if maybe this was some kind of weird delayed reaction on the scientist's part from having to deal with the fact that their friend had just died. Whatever the reason for it though, it was completely inappropriate and the urge to preserve the sanctity of Carson's current resting place had John rising from his chair.

"Oh Relax, Johnny boy," Rodney smiled wickedly when he noticed John move. "I'm just looking at your handiwork.

What I really want to know is if I'll look the same way when you eventually let me die, too. I mean, I've always been pasty, but this would be kinda pushin' it."

"Rodney, if this is some sick, twisted attempt to get me to leave, bad move chief," he warned darkly, but Rodney's strange smile only widened.

"Have you looked at this?" He asked, inclining his head towards the corpse still hidden from John's view by the sheet.

"Seriously Rodney, knock it off."

"You haven't have you!" Rodney's eyes filled with something like glee and he looked back and forth between John and Carson's still hidden form.

"Do you supposed there's a special place in heaven for all the people you killed, John? It'd have to be a pretty massive place I would imagine. I mean, what's the body count up to these days? About two billion three?

Shit, hell's going to have a nice special place all made up for you when you finally kick the bucket, Sheppard."

"Jesus, Rodney!" He snapped, looking away just as McKay finally threw the sheet back and revealed Carson's cold, grey face. "What the fuck's gotten into you? Enough already!"

"Think that's what Teyla said right before she died, John? Enough already? Is that why she let the Wraith snap her neck like a friggin' twig, so she didn't have to spend one more moment in your insufferable company?"

Rodney's cruel words slashed across his body in vicious strokes, drawing blood as they passed and opening up already raw wounds John had only just managed to close.

"Or how about Ronon? Did he love it when that blade slid home because he would finally be rid of you?"

John wrapped his arms around himself and tried to keep his insides from falling out through the holes that Rodney punched into him mercilessly.

"There wasn't a coroner around to do those autopsies though, was there John? Because you couldn't be bothered to take five fucking minutes and go back to retrieve their bodies. You're pathetic, and it should be you lying here on this table, not him... Not _Carson_."

John's entire body shook with the force of his friend's blows. They were well aimed strikes, too. Meant to inflict the most amount of trauma with the least amount of effort and he was crumbling under that accusatory gaze of his last surviving friend.

And Rodney laughed. "Nothing to say John? Per the usual, I see. Is it just that you can't believe what I'm telling you or are you too stunned to respond because everything I just said is the god's honest truth?

John?

...oh General Sheeeeeeeppard!

Sheppard!"

John was jolted from the chaos of his dream by a warm hand on his shoulder and instantly bolted upright in his chair.

The cold grey of the morgue he'd been trapped in slowly gave way to the softer amber tones of the SGC infirmary and John blinked up into the shocked face of a nurse standing beside him. Her wrinkled hazel eyes had gone wide with concern and John raked a shaking hand down the side of his face, trying to escape the last terrible vestiges of the nightmare that still clung to him with cloying, grasping hands.

"General Sheppard… are you okay?" She asked nervously, stepping in closer like she half expected him to pass out right there in the chair, and John dropped the hand away from his face to give her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. She was elderly, with one of those kind faces that always managed to put people at ease. If only it could have worked on him.

"I'm alright," he lied point blank, and shakily sank back against the uncomfortable infirmary chair he'd somehow managed to fall asleep in. The nurse eyed him skeptically for a moment, but apparently the smile he had somehow managed to conjure had been convincing enough, and she bustled off a moment later to resume her work.

John's entire body was trembling and he took a moment to close his eyes and try to get a better purchase on reality. The dream had yet to recede from him completely and it kept trying to reach back up out of his subconscious and choke him. Even Rodney's wide and unforgiving grin had managed to superimpose itself over the blackness behind his eyelids. But as terrible as seeing that cruel smirk again was, John just couldn't talk his eyes into opening again. He couldn't make himself look up and over at that unmoving figure lying on the bed beside him because if he did - if the nightmare had become reality and he opened his eyes to find that same grey face staring up at him like in the dream - John was going to lose it completely.

Scraping together the last dregs of self control he had at the bottom of himself, John pulled in as big a breath as his irrational fear would allow and made himself open his eyes... letting that same breath out a moment later when his reluctant gaze finally settled on Carson Beckett who was still very much alive.

Though machines were doing most of the living for him at the moment, Carson's skin held nothing of that sickly grey pallor of death like it had in his dream. In fact, it was still flush with color. An effect, someone had explained to John earlier, of the cyanide that he'd been poisoned with.

The lower half of the doctor's face was obscured by the pale blue tubing of the ventilator helping him to breathe and a rainbow array of multi-colored IV bags hung from the poles at the head of his bed. The lines leading from IV bag to port painted strange colored patters across the white blankets covering most of Carson and John couldn't even pronounce the names of half the drugs they had him on. But whatever their names, they were doing their jobs and helping Carson's body to combat against the effects of the poison wreaking havoc on his system. A poison that was slowly starving his body of vital oxygen, had sent him into a coma, and that had flung his body into excruciating convulsions that John had barely been able to watch. But mercifully most all of that had happened in the chaotic first few hours after Carson had arrived in the infirmary and now that his doctors had administered the correct drugs and at the proper dosages, things had finally begun to quiet down.

Memories of those first few hours were almost as terrible to revisit as his nightmare. Cyanide was not a pretty poison and John had been asked to leave on more than one occasion to give his friend some privacy as the infirmary staff cleaned up after each relentless attack. But thankfully, after administering some charcoal concoction designed to absorb any more poison that might still be lingering in his system, the drugs had finally begun to work and in the quiet space of relief that had followed, John had somehow managed to fall asleep in one of the infirmary's notoriously uncomfortable chairs.

"How's he doing?" John asked tentatively and the nurse who had quietly been checking monitors and jotting down notes on the clipboard she carried looked over at him with something in her eyes John couldn't quite name.

"There's no change, but he's holding his own alright."

She said it almost hopefully and leaned over to lay a careful hand on the one place on Carson's arm that wasn't crisscrossed by some vital wire. It seemed like a normal enough gesture, but it was the nurse's eyes that gave her away and John understood what he was seeing. If Carson didn't make it through this, John Sheppard would not be the only one who mourned him. There was an entire mountain out there, filled with people whose lives Carson had touched, be it solider, scientist, civilian or friend.

"General Sheppard, are you sure you're alright, sir?" the nurse asked again, touching his shoulder lightly as he swiped moisture away from the corners of his eyes. He hadn't even seen her approach.

"I'm fine," he lied again. "But thank you." He was far from alright, in fact he felt broken open and completely exposed, but he wasn't about to worry some poor old woman with all the shit swirling around in his agitated brain.

"Well, alright," she replied, sounding far from convinced. "But if you change your mind, I'll just be right outside at the nurses' station." She gave him a genuine smile that deepened the wrinkles around her mouth and eyes then left him on a soft tinkle of metal as she pulled the privacy curtain closed behind her.

Alone again at last, John sighed and shifted uncomfortably in his chair, gingerly stretching out joints that hadn't been properly moved in hours. His neck, stiff from the odd position he'd slept in, was a painful mass of knotted sinew and John dug angry fingertips into the tense muscle, trying to break it apart by sheer force alone. When that didn't help matters much he pulled himself up and out of the chair he'd been occupying for hours to try and get his blood flowing again.

Carson's bed was situated in one corner of the infirmary in a small space cordoned off from the rest of the medical wing by a thin curtain. The infirmary staff had been keeping people away for most of the night and except for the few ubiquitous nurses and doctors that stopped by every so often to check on Carson's status, John had pretty much been left to himself.

It seemed wrong somehow that Carson, the natural healer, should be under the care of other doctors like this and John hobbled forward on a protesting knee to stand beside the bed. The joint he'd abused so thoroughly the day before was threatening imminent collapse but John was so tired of that chair he would take the pain any day over having to collapse back into it and he let his eyes linger on the comatose figure before him.

Seeing Carson Beckett confined to a hospital bed and on life support was like the punch line to some tasteless joke. He didn't deserve to be there. He'd already given more of himself than any other person in all of the SGC and if it had been the intention of the saboteur to strike at the heart of the Atlantis Expedition, well then they had certainly chosen their target well.

Carson Beckett was no solider, but what he lacked in the tactical he made up for in the heart he wore around on his sleeve for all to see. He was the unwavering infrastructure that kept the whole damn thing from crumbling down around them; the consummate physician whose empathy for those he treated was utterly boundless. But more than any of that, he was a true and loyal friend and John just couldn't handle the idea that he might not make it through all of this alive.

And if Carson Beckett died, god help the man or woman who was responsible because they just might succeed where Richard Woolsey had failed, and make a killer out of him yet. They'd messed with the wrong person and there was no force in heaven or on Earth that would keep John Sheppard from tracking that psychopath down.

Fuck, when was enough, enough? When was fate going to look down at his little used up shell of a body and say, 'Alright, this one has paid his dues. Enough now.'? God, he was so fucking tired of being the victim all the time!

John used to be _indestructible_. Then one unimaginable event 20 years ago had shattered him into a million pieces and stripped him of everything. And ever since that day in the skies above Earth with the Wraith, John had been trying to pull himself back together. He'd scoured the country side and tiny backwater towns trying to do it, never realizing that he had carried all the pieces within himself the entire time. Only he'd been too afraid to stop and examine what was rattling around inside of him to realize what they really were.

Christ, the things he'd missed out on because he'd been so fucking terrified of facing the past.

Carrie was a big one. If he would have just let that woman in the way she deserved, he probably would have found the peace he'd been so desperately searching for a long time ago. She wouldn't have hated him for what he'd been tricked into doing with the Wraith. She would have done for him what Carson and Rodney had been trying to do ever since he'd arrived back at the SGC: convince him that what had happened that day on Atlantis was in no way his fault.

And it really wasn't, was it? What control did he have over what madmen decided in a little windowless room in Switzerland?

They'd managed to dismantled him completely, yes, but John had been the one who let those broken pieces stay broken and now look where it had landed them. His friend was in the infirmary, barely clinging to life, and all because John Sheppard had let the heavy weight of the past pull his focus away from what was happening right in front of him.

Well no more!

He was through with letting the past hold him back, with letting it keep him from the life he had loved. The events of that day were always going to be a part of him, that would never change, but instead of being hindered by it, John was going to wrap up all the rage that it generated into the catalyst it always should have been, and use it to track down the person responsible for trying to murder his friend. And then he was going to fly Atlantis back to Pegasus and be the leader the expedition deserved. Because _that_ was who he truly was.

...John felt it then: that last layer of the past slipping away from around his shoulders to finally release him completely.

The last chunk of that big ugly nothing in the center of his chest finally breaking apart to disappear forever.

John leaned forward on the momentum of his epiphany and threaded a hand through the side rails of Carson's bed to grip the doctor's hand firmly. Carson's fingers were warm and reassuring under his own grip and John squeezed them slightly.

"Shit Carson, you were right, weren't you?" he said out loud, the sound of his own voice startling him after so much silent introspection. "I couldn't let it go, even after you and Rodney tried to pound into my brain that it wasn't my fault. Well, I'm done with it; all of it. But you gotta meet me half way here, buddy, and wake up, alright? You and me, we gotta fly our city back home now and show whatever rat bastard did this to you that it takes more than just a little cyanide to bring this team crashing down..."

"Well it's about damn time you showed back up, John Sheppard," an amused voice interrupted him from behind and John whipped his head around just as Rodney McKay pushed past the privacy curtain and entered the room.

John froze for a moment, embarrassed at having been caught in such a tender moment, but Carson was not the only one he owed an apology to and he cleared his throat.

"Rodney, I'm..." but the scientist held up a hand.

"I know you are, John," he replied solemnly, but not unkindly. There was no hint of the Rodney McKay from his dream in the man who stood before him now. "Apology accepted, but only if you promise to put all of this behind you now and help me fix this." Rodney placed a careful hand on one of Carson's shins visible under the infirmary blanket.

"You've got yourself a deal, McKay," John replied determinedly and Rodney lifted his chin to smile over at John like the scientist had just been reunited with a long lost best friend. A best friend that he would follow anywhere and into anything and it struck John then how very much the moment they were in now was mirroring one that had happened long ago.

After he had lost control of Atlantis and she had crashed into the San Francisco bay there had been a moment outside the Gateroom when all three men had silently voiced their loyalty to one another even as the world was falling down around them. While Carson wasn't conscious or able to participate this time around, the moment was still powerful and it was as if some missing link had reestablished itself between the three of them: the last ragged remnants of a once prodigious team. Mighty still, even after all they had lost.

"So what do we know so far?" John asked Rodney as he sank back into his chair and the scientist pulled over one for himself.

"That's actually what I came to talk to you about. My lab just finished with the analysis and you were right, John. It was that damn haggis he had flown in from Scotland."

"I knew it," John muttered. As soon as Carson had been revived by the medical team and rushed to the infirmary, John had suggested testing the haggis the doc had eaten that evening at dinner. "If this is an inside job, then chances are whomever is responsible got their hands on that package somehow. Maybe if we went through the security…"

"Already on it, John," Rodney interrupted with a small smile. "Lorne's neen combing through security footage all night."

"He find anything?" John asked hopefully, even though he was pretty sure the answer was going to be no. While Rodney had always had a flare for the dramatic, he would know better than to bury a lead like that.

McKay shrugged. "The last time I spoke with him he hadn't, but that was a few hours ago now. I'm actually kind of surprised that he hasn't checked in with you yet." But John could understand it. What had happened to Carson, it had hit them all hard, and Lorne had jumped headlong into the investigation without a moment's hesitation.

Carson had been poisoned with cyanide. The same compound that had been used to murder all of the ATA gene carriers months before and there was no doubt in John's mind now that the same person was responsible for each heinous crime. Their saboteur was back in action, and the frustrating thing was, there were about a thousand people within Cheyenne Mountain who could possibly be the culprit.

Before he'd fallen asleep in his chair, John had been running through the very short list of people he'd met since returning to the SGC, trying to decide if any one of them could be capable of attempted murder.

Rodney and Lorne were out of the question, obviously. Landry certainly had the clout and the means to pull something like this off, but what was the motive there? The death of his uncle? John just couldn't see the IOA making Landry leader of the entire friggin' program if there was even the slightest chance that he harbored some secret deep seated hatred for all things Atlantis. Then there was the fact that he had been on a plane headed for New York City when it had all gone down, granted they didn't know when exactly Carson's food had been poisoned. But even though John didn't know Landry all that well, McKay had vouched for him and John still found that he trusted the guy. The same went for Fitzpatrick, though he knew even less about that kid than he did Landry. The former Navy Seal had been working tirelessly to get John back to the man he'd been before the Wraith though, thus ensuring the expedition's continued success in the process.

So that just left the rest of Cheyenne Mountain… and the SGC was brimming with highly skilled service men and woman; any one of whom could be the one they were looking for, hiding in plain sight. The forces that provided security within the mountain were trained to know the base inside and out. To stand unobtrusively in the shadows, observing anything and everything around them at any given moment, all while remaining invisible to those that they were watching. All it would take was one whispered conversation before the wrong security checkpoint and BAM, a psychopath had the means necessary to poison a highly valued member of the Atlantis expedition.

It was pissing John off that one person was managing to pull everything down around them and chances were, their saboteur was far from finished. They needed to act fast before more people started dying and a plan was already starting to form in his mind... well, reform actually because it was something he'd brought up in the meeting a few days ago.

John was the only one right now with the ATA gene strong enough to pilot the city and that fact most likely meant he was #1 on any list of potential targets their guy might have. If he figured out a way to dangle himself as bait, maybe they could finally get this asshole to slip up and stop this once and for all.

Whomever was responsible, they were smart, cunning even, and John's only concern with his plan was the potential innocent bystanders who might get caught in the crossfire. And that thought had John instantly thinking of Blue River. Shit, if what had happened today was in any way related to his mystery visitor there, John really was going to rip someone's throat out. The first thing he was going to do when he got back to his bunk was try Eddie again in Chicago and then check in with the Marines stationed in his old home town, keeping watch over the woman he loved.

"You got awfully quiet," Rodney prodded gently, shifting a little in his seat beside John and pulling him out of the internal dialog he'd gotten lost in again.

John scrubbed a hand across his face and sighed heavily. "I was just thinking about that guy who showed up in Blue River asking about me."

"You're worried they're related?" Rodney asked, seemingly reading his thoughts, and John nodded.

"Yeah, but Landry did send a couple of Marines out there to keep an eye on things and so far nothing's come up."

"You know, it still could just be Woolsey," Rodney offered hopefully. "I wouldn't put it past the guy to try something like that since his last attempt at contacting you went oh so well."

John almost smiled at the reminder.

"I guess we'll finally find out once Landry gets back from New York in a couple of days. I'm just hoping it turns out to be nothing, especially after what happened to him last night." John nodded his head in Carson's direction.

"Shit, I still can't believe they poisoned him like that. I mean, it's Carson for goodness sake. It's like murdering your favorite grandpa."

"Don't let him hear you say that," Rodney snorted.

"You know that's not what I mean. Carson is, I don't know… he's… off limits."

"I get it, John. I do. But Carson knew what he was signing up for; what restarting his ATA gene research would mean. We all know what we're in for, so don't start beating yourself up over what's happened here."

"Relax, Rodney," John admonished. "It's like you heard me tell Carson: I'm done with it. Clean slate."

"Seriously, John," Rodney laughed, smiling over at him, "It is really good to have you back."

John grinned back. "I didn't go anywhere Rodney, I just kinda got lost under it all for a while there."

"Understatement of the year."

"Hey, I was dealing with some pretty heavy shit! You don't accidently kill 2 billion people and then walk away from it unscathed. He reminded me of that." John cast his eyes over to Carson again, gaze captured for a moment by the steady yet mechanical rise and fall of his friend's chest beneath the blankets.

"Do you have any idea how lucky he is?" Rodney murmured and John looked back over at him and shook his head.

"What do you mean?"

"I did some research while I was waiting for the analysis on the haggis to finish and most people who are poisoned as badly as he was never make it. He never should have made it."

"But he did, Rodney," John replied, getting the scientist to look back over at him. "He's alive."

"Yeah, but John, cyanide deprives the body of oxygen. What if he… I mean, what if there's permanent damage?"

"You can't think like that, buddy. Carson…" but John was interrupted by a commotion just outside the privacy curtain that set it to swaying and the sound of raised voices wafted in. Something was going on and the two men shared a look.

"Should we go check it out?" Rodney asked and John shrugged but turned his head so he could listen in on the chaos unfolding on the other side of the curtain.

Medical emergencies were commonplace in the SGC, but one so soon after what had happened with Carson had John pushing out of his chair to go make sure nothing major was happening. But what sent him out into the main room of the infirmary quicker than he ever would have thought possible on his swelling knee, was one word cutting through the din, clear as crystal.

Cyanide.

John heard Rodney's chair scrape along the tile floor as he pushed himself out of it to follow after John, and they both stumbled out from behind the curtain to take in the confused scene playing out before them.

A crush of white coated medical personnel were swarming around a gurney, trying desperately to resuscitate the still figure of the woman lying there. John couldn't see her face, but something about her felt familiar and he stepped in closer just as everyone paused and stepped back on the lead doctor's orders.

The ambou bag obscuring the young woman's face was removed and John found himself staring at the unseeing eyes of Lieutenant Macy Hayden.

"Jesus!" John breathed and took an unconscious step back. It couldn't be.

"Wait, isn't that the girl you were talking to at dinner the other night, John?" Rodney asked but all he could do was nod, unable to tear his eyes away from that face. It was cold... and it was grey...

Shit.

"General Sheppard, they found her this way in her bunk this morning, but I'm afraid we were too late," his nurse from before said, breaking away from the main group as the lead doctor began pronouncing time of death. "We won't be completely sure until we run some tests, but she's showing all the same signs of cyanide poisoning."

John closed his eyes and clenched his jaw on an angry sigh.

"Who is she, Rodney?" He ground out, opening his eyes to glare over at McKay, but the scientist just shrugged.

"Beats me!"

"She was an ATA gene carrier," a voice said from behind them, "and she was the best damn one we had."

John turned and Evan Lorne walked solemnly into the infirmary to join them.

"I thought you were supposed to be protecting them, Lorne!" John shot off without thinking, instantly regretting the accusation the moment it left his lips. Lorne just stiffened in anger.

"I was trying to, Sheppard!" the man spat back, eyes flashing. "No one was supposed to know who any of them were."

"Well someone obviously found out!"

He knew it was just the stress of the day and the long hours he'd spent waiting that had given him such a short fuse, but Macy Haden was dead and the blood in John's veins was boiling.

"What kind of a clown show are you people running around here, Lorne?!"

"What would you have me do, John? Huh? Lock 'em in their rooms? Never let them see the light of day? They're people for Christ's sake! And maybe you'd see that if you weren't so busy walking around this place with you head up your ass!"

"Woah, woah, woah, you two!" Rodney finally interjected, stepping up between them just as John took an angry step forward.

"A girl is _dead_ and your friend is on the other side of that curtain fighting for his goddamn life." The scientist pointed a finger over to where Carson lay, "And you two are out here yelling at each other like a couple of teenage girls! Have some damn respect for heaven's sake!?"

Rodney's words punched into John's gut and he backed off immediately as all the fight went out of him in an instant. Lorne did the same and deflated visibly. under Rodney's hot admonishment.

"That's better," Rodney continued, dropping the arms he'd put out to keep them apart. "Now why don't you two act like the level headed _senior_ military officers I know you are, and start working together on this before even more people start dying."

John ducked his head in embarrassment, humiliated by how he had just acted and he turned back to Lorne. "I didn't mean to snap at you like that, Evan. I hope you'll forgive me."

"No harm done," Lorne said with half a tentative smile. "And I'm sorry, too. We're all under too much pressure right now, but you did make a good point. I'm supposed to be protecting them, but as you might have guessed after meeting her last night, Macy Hayden didn't exactly make that easy for me."

"What happened here, Lorne?" Rodney asked like he was trying to dispel any lingering awkwardness and the Colonel cast sad eyes in the direction of the most recent casualty.

"I talked with the friend who found her and from what I gather, Lieutenant Hayden must have been exposed to the poison around the same time as Dr. Beckett. But unlike Carson, she went back to her bunk alone after dinner last night. I searched her quarters a few minutes ago but there was nothing there, just like last time. My team's sweeping the barracks now, looking for any more victims."

One of the nurses near Macy shook out a sheet and John watched her cover the Lieutenant's body respectfully. This had to end.

"Lorne," John started thickly, pulling his eyes away from the scene as visions from his dream earlier tried to rise up assault him again. "I think it might be time for us to do what I suggested at the meeting the other day."

Two penetrating gazes fell on him instantly.

"You mean that asinine suggestion you made about using yourself as bait?" Rodney questioned but it was Lorne who John looked over at. The Colonel was eyeing him strangely, but it wasn't in surprise. It was more like the man had been expecting John to bring this particular subject up sooner or later.

"Think about it guys," John said to them both but kept his eyes fixed firmly on Lorne. "I'm the one he wants. With me out of the way the Atlantis Expedition can't go forward until someone else with the ATA gene is found. So why not use that to our advantage? Why not use me to lure him out in the open and end this once and for all?"

"Are you kidding me with this right now?" Rodney snorted. "Lorne, please talk some damn sense into him!"

"Rodney's right, John. It's too dangerous." Lorne said it with enough finality, but John thought he caught the slightest hint of resignation flitting behind the Colonel's eyes... like Lorne had come to the sudden realization that John would never back down and that he would never win this particular battle.

"Screw dangerous, you guys! They brought me back to ensure the safety of this expedition and stop the sabotage. So let me do my goddamn job!"

"There is no expedition if you're dead, Sheppard!" Rodney argued, trying to get John to look over at him again. When he did Rodney's eyes were full of panic. "What if something goes wrong and that bastard kills you?"

"Then you keep looking for someone else with the ATA gene strong enough to pilot the city, Rodney!" He cried, knowing how it sounded. "And you help Carson get healthy again so he can get his gene therapy research back up and running. We all know he's going to crack that eventually, despite what he tries to tell us.

You wanted the old John Sheppard back, McKay? Well, now you've got him."

The scientist opened his mouth as if to argue, then quickly shut it again. Rodney McKay stunned silent, now there was something that didn't happen every day.

..

\oO0Oo/

..

The several days following Carson's poisoning and the death of Lieutenant Hayden were chaotic; made even more so by the fact that Landry was absent from the base. Lorne and John were doing their best to try and keep the rumors flying around to a minimum but once word had gotten out that the members of the Atlantis Expedition were once again being targeted, people had started to panic. So John had spent much of the last two days sequestered in the SGC security offices trapped behind a desk pouring over mindless hours of security footage looking for that one lead that would blow the case wide open. He'd offered his help, such as it was, and while the work was tedious at best, it still beat sitting around worrying about his lack of a plan to lure the saboteur out.

John had agreed to wait to do anything until Landry had returned from his meetings in New York, but the waiting was excruciating. He didn't even have his training to keep his mind off things because Fitzpatrick, he'd learned from Lorne, had accompanied Landry to New York on some personal business. There were other trainers John could have worked with of course, but he'd grown kind of accustomed to Fitzpatrick's no nonsense approach and working with someone else just didn't hold the same appeal. Still, with the SGC security offices located on one of the more upper levels of the mountain and so close to the surface, John could swear he almost caught a whiff of fresh air every now and then, and the thought of a good long run almost had him abandoning any loyalty he had to Fitzpatrick over his fitness plan. Even his knee was looking for some action because he hadn't been able to get any real exercise in days.

Every so often in the security office someone would come across something suspicious on the feeds and the room would erupt into frenzied chaos as whatever suspect was tracked down and thoroughly interrogated. That had happened a few times since John had started helping out and he'd even sat in on one or two of them just to break up the monotony of watching the security tapes. But besides scaring the pants off a handful of poor scientists and a ruffling the feathers of a few soldiers, nothing had come of it.

In light of the complete and utter lack of any tangible evidence on who might be responsible for the poisonings, security had been heightened all over the base and John, unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on who you asked), was the focus of most of it. Everyone had assumed that he was next on the list, and rightly so, but it had gotten to the point where he could barely even take a piss on his own anymore. While he could appreciate the precarious situation in which Evan Lorne found himself in, sooner or later that man was going to have to call off the dogs. If they wanted to draw the saboteur out, it wasn't going to happen if John was constantly surrounded by a battalion of pissed off Marines. He needed to appear vulnerable if any plan of his was going to work and he tried to think of how to best broach that particular subject with Lorne as they sat together in the security offices going through another round of tapes.

John was leaning back in a rolling chair with feet propped up on the desk in front of him, right next to the TV screen he was scrutinizing. The particular file he was working on was of a hallway just outside the kitchens where their poisoner might have gained access to the haggis Carson had dropped off there and asked one of the cooks to prepare for him. John himself had grilled (no pun intended) each and every member of the kitchen staff hoping that one of them might be their guy, but, per the usual, it just ended up being another dead end. They'd all checked out and now John was stuck watching more footage, praying for a lead and trying not to get frustrated by their lack of progress.

Even though there was a marked absence of any new evidence, some good news had managed to come out of all the long hours of waiting and worrying. Carson had finally been taken off the ventilator and while he had yet to come out of his coma, the doctors were hopeful that it would be any day now. They may not know who poisoned the physician just yet, but whomever it was had failed in their attempt and that was a win in John's book any day. Carson was going to make it, barring any lingering side effects of the poison or further attempts on his life. And if anyone was going to try and get at him again, they were going to have to get through John Sheppard, Evan Lorne, Rodney McKay and even Radek Zelenka, first.

None of them had really meant for it to happen, but a kind of continuous bedside vigil had sprung up between them and they all took shifts sitting with Carson so that the man was rarely ever alone. They didn't need to do it. There were enough trusted Marines stationed in the infirmary to protect the friggin' president of the United States, but there was so much uncertainty going around that none of them could bear the thought of Carson being alone for one moment. Plus, there was no way that man was waking up after a day's long coma, to find himself on his own. No way in hell.

So when John wasn't sitting for his shift in the infirmary he was usually in the security offices and on this particular late afternoon Lorne was in the seat beside him, feet propped up on the desk alongside John's with a half eaten pizza box lying open on the tabletop between their boots. Grease had congealed on the top of it and it was stone cold, but John grabbed a piece anyway when his stomach grumbled and munched on it irritably.

"There's nothing here, Lorne," he groused, and the Colonel sighed beside him. "We've been staring at the same hallways for days. I just don't think our guy is stupid enough to get caught on camera like this."

"What makes you so sure it's a man?" Lorne asked, not really being serious.

"Man, woman, whatever they are, they're too good for this," he gestured towards the monitors. They were old and the green footage meandered past with lines of distorted pixels rolling up and down the screen.

"I get it Sheppard," Lorne replied, stretching his arms up over his head and yawning loudly for a moment. "But if there's even the slightest chance we might find something here, we at least gotta try."

"Look, I know I said we'd wait until Landry got back from New York, but we should seriously start thinking about ways to lure this guy out using me as bait. I think the only way we're going to get him to slip up is if we dangle something big right in front of him. Something he can't refuse."

"And how exactly do suggest we do that?"

"Well, ease up on the security, for one. He's not going to come anywhere near me with Turner and Hootch out there on my six every second." John titled his head toward the Marines standing guard outside the security office door, not missing Lorne's smirk at the nickname he'd given them. "As for a plan, well I'm still working on that part."

"Landry is going to be back from New York tomorrow, Sheppard, and well fill him in on everything that's been going on then. Let's just wait and see what he has to say."

"You want him to talk me out of it, don't you?" John realized suddenly and Lorne shifted but didn't look over. "You're hoping he comes back and tells me to go pound sand because they're never going to let me try anything... are they? Not with me being the only one able to fly Atlantis."

Lorne remained silent, resolutely staring at the monitor in front of him.

"Evan, what if this psychopath kills someone else while we're sitting around with our thumbs up our asses staring at security footage all day? Atlantis is important, but getting her back to Pegasus isn't worth more people dying!"

"Except for you, John, is that it?" Lorne rounded on him angrily, pulling his feet from off the desk and turning to face John full on. But it wasn't the jittery energy of their fight from before that filled Lorne's eyes then. This anger came from somewhere else, a place of genuine concern, and John barely held his ground under the weight of it. "Everyone else on base we have to protect, but you we can just dangle in front of this guy, no problem? Regardless of the fact that you might get your ass killed?"

"Hey, I knew what I was signing up for from the beginning of all this, Lorne. But those scientists, those civilians? They aren't connected to all of this like I am. And I gotta do everything in my power to keep them safe otherwise what was the point of me coming back to all of this in the first place? Shit, Lorne! You guys can't just hand me the reins to the entire expedition like that and then yank them back every time something starts going sideways!" Lorne tried not to let it show on his face, but John could tell what he'd just said had struck a chord. He'd finally won a battle and he could tell that was the case just by the way Lorne sighed in resignation.

"How many times are we going to do this, Sheppard?"

"What do you mean?" John asked cautiously, wondering if he'd perhaps misread the situation and Lorne was still going to fight him.

"Us in the middle of some dire situation and you calmly walking out into the middle of it all to sacrifice yourself to get the job done." Lorne answered and John let out a relieved yet amused chuckle. Self destruct buttons, jumpers through killer plant covered towers, kamikaze missions with nuclear bombs...

"I guess that's just how I operate."

"I'm starting to remember that about you. But even so John, I'm not the one you have to convince. Landry will be back in a few hours. We'll all sit down when he gets back and discuss a plan then."

John was ready to get going now, but he could tell he wasn't going to be able to sway Lorne any further. "Alright," he agreed reluctantly and Lorne nodded as if sealing the deal.

John sat back in his chair again and rewound the footage he'd missed while talking to Lorne, trying to calm his growing frustration at the situation. Waiting around for something to happen went against every fiber of his being and he almost had to stop and chuckle at that particular realization. Hadn't he been doing just that for the past 20 years? Waiting in a holding pattern for something to happen? Well now there was righteous anger flowing through his veins and it was a welcome respite from the abject fear that had been there before.

John let it pool in the pit of his stomach and smolder there dangerously.

When he got his hands on that son of a bitch...

"Am I interrupting anything?" A low voice rumbled behind John and he looked over his shoulder to find Sean Fitzpatrick's tall figure darkening the door to the office. The former Seal's face was ruddy and his red hair windblown and disheveled and it looked like he'd just come in from cold. Some people had all the luck.

"Hey, you're back!" Lorne exclaimed like he was almost relieved to see the massive Irishman and John couldn't help but wonder if it was because that mean Landry was back as well, or if it had something to do with the fact that John had just asked that his security detail be scaled back.

"Yep, got in a few minutes ago. I just heard about Dr. Beckett. Sheppard, I'm so sorry."

Lorne, as if sensing there were things the two men needed to discuss privately, rose from his chair.

"John, I'm going to take a break for a while and maybe go sit with Carson. Rodney's shift is almost up anyways," Lorne said nonchalantly enough, but John knew what he was doing and gave the man a thankful smile.

"You still got your earwig?" Lorne asked last, pausing at the doorway to make sure and John raised a hand to his ear and nodded. "Good, if you find anything, radio me."

"You got it chief," John replied and Evan left the room, closing the door softly on his way out.

"Dr. Beckett's alive?" Fitzpatrick asked a little surprised and John swung his chair over to face him. The burly former Seal was leaning a hip on one edge of the desk with eyebrows raised.

"Yeah, the medical team was able to revive him and get him the antidote in time. In fact, they weaned him off the ventilator this morning and the prognosis is good. But didn't Landry tell you all this?"

"No, actually," Fitzpatrick mused, running a hand along the several days worth of stubble growth at his chin. "I had some... personal things to take care of once we got to New York and didn't hear that he'd pulled through."

"He's not out of the woods completely, but they're hopeful."

"I bet they've got that infirmary on lockdown then." Fitzpatrick said next, almost like he was asking and John nodded.

"You bet your ass they do. There's no way that psychopath gets anywhere near him again."

"You guys have any idea who it might be yet?"

"None," John admitted dejectedly. "Whoever they are, they're smart enough to stay off camera and never leave any evidence behind. But no one stays perfect forever. It's only a matter of time before they slip up."

"Shit, this guy's good, isn't he? Kind of makes you wonder what his motivations might be. Like maybe there's something bigger going on here than we know."

John narrowed his eyes at that. "He's murdering people, kid. He's a psychopath, pure and simple."

"Or maybe he's just misunderstood," Fitzpatrick countered and John cocked an eyebrow at the former Seal sitting beside him.

"Fitzpatrick, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were trying to defend this asshole."

"Maybe it's just the psychiatrist in me, I don't know. After what happened with the Wraith, didn't you want closure? Maybe that's what this guy is after?"

"Poisoning people seems like a pretty extreme way of getting it if you ask me," John snorted.

"Yeah, but at least he's not repressing his feelings over what happened," Fitzpatrick responded coyly and John pursed his lips.

"You..."

" _Sheppard, it's Lorne, do you copy_?" the coms device that had been silent in his ear for hours suddenly came to life and nearly startled John.

"Hold that thought, I'm not through with you yet." He said to Fitzpatrick, putting up a finger, and activated the earwig. "I'm hear Lorne. What's up?"

" _The base switchboard has an urgent call for you from Blue River._ _They're forwarding it to the phone in the office now._ "

"Ok, thanks." Lorne clicked off the frequency and a moment later the phone on the desk came to life on a colloquy of bells. John shot Fitz a look that promised they'd get back to their conversation in a moment, and eagerly answered the phone.

"This is Sheppard," he barked.

"Brigadier General Sheppard, this is Agnes from the switchboard. I have a secure call for you from an Edward Nostrand in Blue River, Wisconsin. Are you expecting his phone call, Sir?" The curt voice on the other end of the phone asked him and John nearly cut her off.

"Hell yeah, I am!"

"A simple yes or no will suffice, _Sir_ ," Agnes said, unamused. "Hold please."

John drummed his fingertips impatiently on the table top as muzzak blared to life in his ear. He'd been waiting for this call for nearly a week and couldn't help but hope that Eddie would finally be able to dispel, once and for all, who the mystery visitor to Blue River had been. He kept telling himself that it was just Woolsey, but with the recent poisonings and the Atlantis Expedition so close to finally getting back up off the ground, his mind couldn't help but make connections. If the saboteur had visited his old home town looking for information or a way to get at him, then maybe Eddie could at least give them a description to go off of.

"Who is it?" Fitzpatrick asked impatiently, but the muzzak finally cut off and when the call connected, Eddie's frantic voice filled the receiver pressed to John's hear.

"John? John, you there?"

"Eddie? God, it's good to hear your voice man! Why'd it take you so long to call me back?"

"I didn't get your messages until today! Mom threw the answering machine out the window when people kept calling to offer their condolences, but forget all that! What the fuck is going on, John?" Eddie's voice was high and panicked, he realized with a jolt, and the blood that had just a few minutes ago been boiling away in his veins with anger, turned to ice in an instant.

"What the hell are you talking about Eddie?" He croaked back and Fitzpatrick leaned in closer to him as if concerned. John ignored him.

"What do you mean, 'what am I talking about', Evans? It's a goddamn war zone around here! The sheriff found two dead kids in a car on your property this morning and I get back into town and learn from Eileen that some army guy came and took Carrie into protective custody this morning. What the hell is happening here John! Is she safe?"

Carrie. Fuck.

John closed his eyes, trying to rein in his emotions as everything from rage to fear flitted through him in an instant.

This wasn't happening.

This couldn't be happening.

His only hope was that it was all just some big misunderstanding and John forced his next question out around the panic trying to take over him completely.

"Eddie, did you see who took Carrie?"

"No man, I didn't, but he scared Eileen something awful. You better start telling me what the hell's going on here, John. Right now." But he couldn't, not yet.

"There was a man who came asking questions about me a few days after I left town. What did he look like, Eddie?"

"I don't know... big, burly. And he had the reddest damn hair you ever saw, but what does that have to do with anything?

...John?

John?!"

He gripped the receiver held to his hear tightly, trying not to let his eyes flick over to the man sitting perched on the edge of the desk right beside him.

"Eddie, I gotta go," he tried to say as nonchalantly as possible and replaced the receiver even as his friend continued to yell his name out over the line.

But he knew Fitzpatrick had heard the entire exchange and his hand shook as he settled the handset into its cradle, plastic clacking against plastic and ringing the bells in the receiver ever so slightly.

The intensity in the room grew exponentially and John kept his eyes facing forward, unconsciously reaching for a sidearm he realized too late wouldn't be there. Fitzpatrick was silent and unmoving beside him and John made himself finally look over and meet the gaze that was boring into the side of him with enough heat to singe.

When their sightlines finally converged, that dangerous anger flared back to life with a vengeance in the pit of John's stomach.

The kid was fucking _smiling_ at him.

"Well, I guess that changes things now, doesn't it?" Fitzpatrick said, and chuckled almost sinisterly.


	19. We're All Mad Here

Fitzpatrick's words impacted heavily, pushing John bodily back against his chair. The force was enough to knock the air out of his lungs and he nearly shattered; realization and disbelief coming together in his brain like fire and ice. His eyes darted in the direction of the closed office door. There were two heavily armed Marines standing right outside of it - the prospect of the help they could give making him bold - but Fitzpatrick caught the look.

"I would think very carefully about what your next move is gonna be, chief," he said darkly. The smirk he had carried on his face moments ago slid away to be replaced by a cold calculating stare. John decided he preferred the smirk. There was something unhinged hiding behind those eyes now. Something the man before him had somehow managed to keep hidden all this time.

"Did you take Carrie, Fitz?" He ground out, somehow finding his voice. Rage tinted the world around him red. Betrayal sucker punched him in the gut over and over again and he dug his fingertips into the leather of the chair; knuckles white and skin stretched taught till he thought it might split.

John was fighting against a primal urge to strike, and it was strong. Strong enough to wind the muscles in his body up tight in anticipation of attack. It was taking over his entire body, but he couldn't risk it. Not after what Eddie had said.

Those words were still echoing around his skull. They knocked about inside his head along with ideas of what he could do to the man in front of him with bare hands and pure wrath, given the chance...

Fitzpatrick rose from the desk. "This is not how I intended for this to go John. It's important to me that you understand that."

"I'm having a hard time understanding any of this right now, _kid_." He used the word like a blade but without the desired effect.

Fitzpatrick's eyes sparked again with that wild something from before. John flinched slightly under it and the barely checked potential it held... Perhaps poking the proverbial bear in the zoo was not the best idea at the moment, though his fingers still tingled with the desire to do so. The yearning for violence was clashing viciously with his need to protect at all costs.

"No, you're right, Sheppard," Fitzpatrick said with words devoid of emotion. "You deserve an explanation and I'm going to give you one, but not here. There's a caretaker's cottage at the edge of the base near the cemetery. Are you familiar with it?" But John remained silent, analyzing the situation with the quick precision even 18 years out of uniform couldn't dull.

Battle plans formed then flopped in his mind. In such close quarters, he was at a disadvantage. Fitzpatrick had him outmatched in both speed and strength. His neck would snap like a twig beneath those big beefy paws. But maybe if he made just enough noise before he died, the Marines on guard would get wise to what was happening inside.

There was only one problem with that plan. The bastard most likely had Carrie. And that changed the rules of the game completely.

If he fought and he failed, there was a very real chance the former Seal would kill Carrie anyway. Fight wasn't an option. Flight, not much better, but apparently it was his only choice.

"This only works if you use your words, Sheppard. Do you know of the cottage or not?"

"I do." John's voice shook.

"Good. You meet me there in one hour and I'll explain everything. But, if you say anything to anyone or if anyone so much as tries to stop me from leaving this base, Carrie Sinclair dies. And just in case there's any doubt in your mind that I don't have her..." Fitzpatrick fished something white and rectangular from the back pocket of his pants and threw it into John's lap. "There's my proof."

John broke his thousand yard stare away from the former Seal to glance down at it. It was a plain white envelope, bulging slightly with its contents and he uncemented his hands from around the edges of his seat to lift it from his lap.

For a moment, John tried to hide the fact that his hands were shaking, but decided in the end that he really didn't care. Let Fitzpatrick see. Let him think that he was terrified. The fact that they shook with unbridled rage was his and his alone to know.

John fished several script covered sheets of paper from the envelope and unfolded them slowly in his lap, recognizing the handwriting immediately. It was his own looping lettering and John stared down at the goodbye letter he'd left in his cabin for Eddie and Carrie to find.

It was Fitzpatrick's proof that he had been there. That he'd been in John's home... Broken the sanctity of that place... put his damn hands on Carrie...

"If you fucking hurt her..." the pages crumpled in his grip.

"No," the Seal snapped, cutting him off before he could go on. "No talking; not here. You've got one hour, Sheppard," and Fitzpatrick turned towards the door.

John shifted forward in his chair. If he planned his attack just right he could use all the fury coercing through him to go for the jugular and end this right here.

...Or he could miscalculate and not only kill himself, but Carrie as well, in the process.

Uncertainly froze the blood in John's veins. The viscous fluid pumped sluggishly now through his extremities, weighing them down and making him question his own abilities. The hands still shaking in his lap were old now. What power did they hold over youth and the madness of stronger men?

Fitzpatrick paused with a hand on the doorknob and turned dead eyes back towards John. "Remember what I said: tell anyone, bring anyone with you to the cottage, and I will not hesitate to slit that pretty little lady's throat. Do I make myself clear?"

John was the master of rage. He'd been immersed in its redness for 20 odd years and he put all of it behind his eyes then. He lifted those eyes to look once more at Fitzpatrick, but the kid didn't even flinch.

This was not going to end well.

"One hour, John." And he was gone.

John let the sheets of paper and their finger shaped creases fall from his hands and down onto the floor. He listened as Fitzpatrick chatted amicably with the Marines stationed just outside the door before moving off. He'd been given 60 minutes to come up with a plan that hopefully kept Carrie alive, and he spread those minutes out over his mind trying to decide how best to use them.

If this were a war and he were fighting against the enemy hordes, John would start thinking about a way to ambush them. Preemptive strikes had always been his kind of thing, but he wasn't fighting this war with a battalion of men at his side. If he went for help, if he brought Rodney and Lorne into all this, Fitzpatrick would likely kill Carrie instantly. There was no battle when innocent women and children were ducking through the crossfire. That was just massacre.

Unless, of course, those women and children had guns. They'd had guns in Afghanistan... but that was besides the point.

John drew a hesitant hand up towards his earwig, then stopped. If Fitzpatrick had a way of listening in on the comms then this would be over before it had even begun if he tried to radio for help. He dug the earwig out of his ear instead and placed it on the desk beside him. Right next to the pizza box that was still lying open on the tabletop like some sort of sad reminder that life had once been normal.

But what was normal now?

Fitzpatrick had very nearly murdered Carson. He was ready to kill Carrie next. The former Seal had all but admitted to _everything_ , and John was wracking his brain for a reason why. But even more perplexing than all that was the fact that Fitzpatrick had allowed him to live.

_"This is not how I intended for this to go John._ _It's important to me that you understand that."_

If the former Seal's intention was to lure John out to that cottage to murder him like had all the other ATA gene carriers, why had he let such a perfect opportunity to do so a few minutes ago slip through his fingers? Fitzpatrick had him dead to rights, but instead of attacking right then and there, he'd walked out of the room with an order for John to meet him in an hour at the old abandoned house near the edge of the SGC cemetery. It just didn't make any sense. There was something more going on here. Something big he was missing, and John couldn't help but worry that he was digging into something he shouldn't.

But regardless of what might be going below the surface, Fitzpatrick had promised answers and John was going to get those answers come hell or high water. The question was, how was he supposed to defend himself against a man he was pretty sure could have put even the most seasoned of MMA fighter's to shame? The kid had bested him time and time again in the ring... but in doing so had also given John the occasional hint as to what could be used to bring the big, burly Irishman down.

What had he said in the sparring space that day? Bantos fighting was not about who was bigger?

It was about focus and discipline.

Two things that John sorely lacked at the moment but was going to need to find soon, or else in less than one hour there was going to be a massacre 100 yards away from the headstones that marked his friend's graves. All John had in his arsenal at the moment was the quicksilver anger sluicing through his veins, eradicating anything in its path. But Fitzpatrick had even made a comment about that, that day in the training rooms as well:

_'Blind anger might get you back up on your feet in a firefight, Sheppard, but it sure as hell won't keep you or any of the men under you, alive.'_

What John needed to do was think strategically. Needed to get inside this guy's head and see what made him tick so he could try and get a few steps ahead of him. Only that was practically impossible now because everything John thought he knew about Sean Fitzpatrick had just gone out the window.

The massive yet introspective kid that had been training him had morphed suddenly into this unhinged _something_ right before his very eyes. He was menacing, and dangerous, and he had a sharp edge to him that John had forgotten all about. He could remember sensing it that first day they'd met in the training facility, and now it was back with a vengeance and John was finally starting to see it for what it truly was. See how it spoke of murder and madness. No, there was no doubt in John's mind that Sean Fitzpatrick wouldn't hesitate to kill Carrie if he tried to go off book. And that realization had him abandoning every pathetic plan his panicked mind tried to provide.

John formed his hands into shaking fists and brought one down hard over the earwig still sitting on the desk.

Fitzpatrick could have easily just killed him a moment ago, but he hadn't; he'd let John live. The former Seal had promised to give answers, too. So maybe what John needed to do was arm himself to the teeth and just head out to that damn cottage in - he checked his watch - fifty five minutes. Maybe bullets could end what his ageing hands could not because John didn't care who this guy was, no one was bulletproof. You could have all the anger in the world burning away inside of you, and all it would take was one careful shot to the center of the forehead, to grind it all to a halt.

Bullets to the head put periods at the ends of sentences; not ellipses. And he was done with ellipses.

John unclenched his fists from the angry balls he had formed them into and glanced down at his palms. The white skin pinked back up instantly but the little crescents left behind by his fingernails welled with blood. Two weeks ago he'd held a rifle in these very hands and stared down the barrel of that gun at a buck. Two weeks ago he had crumbled beneath the weight of remembered memories and had been unable to squeeze that trigger. Now, thanks in part to Fitzpatrick himself, John would not be running into that problem again.

The kid's own actions were about to be his own undoing. He'd helped build the defenses back up, and now he was going to crash against them... if the force of John's ferocity didn't kill him first.

John rose from his chair.

He needed a weapon. He also needed to ditch his security detail somehow and figure out a way to get out of the mountain without tipping anybody off.

Shit.

How was he supposed to manage that? Lorne had the place practically on lockdown, but if he didn't get out to that abandoned cottage near the edge of the base soon, Fitzpatrick was going to do the unthinkable.

It didn't seem fair that the woman he'd only just come to realize he loved was already in grave danger. She didn't even know how he felt about her yet and here they were, about to be separated from each other forever. Well, no, that wasn't entirely true. If Fitzpatrick killed Carrie, John would fight him to the death and either Fitzpatrick would be leaving that caretaker's cottage in a body bag, or John would be... because there was only one way that this ended. He was a cornered animal at the moment: thrashing and rabid, yet caged, and he had no idea what he would be capable of when he finally let that beast out.

John pushed out of his chair and made off down the hallway toward nowhere in particular. Indecision painted everything around him pale and he searched in agitation for inspiration in the washed out corridors around him. He needed to figure out a way to lose the two men following behind or everything was going to fall apart around him. Funny thing was, in the end, it didn't even matter. Just as John was about to round a corner, unforgiving fingers wrapped themselves around his forearm from a room off the hall. He was yanked off his feet so suddenly he nearly stumbled, but Lorne pressed him up against a wall with an arm and motioned quickly for the Marines following to continue on without stooping.

John's heart jumped up into the back of his throat. He didn't need this right now and if Fitzpatrick saw...

"Lorne, what the fuck are you doing?" He demanded, trying to push the man away roughly. But Lorne didn't let him go and John froze under the look he threw.

"Just shut up for a minute!" the Colonel hissed and put a finger to his ear.

"Roger that," Lorne said to someone John couldn't hear. His own earwig was lying in pieces back on the desk in the security office. "If anyone spots him again, let me know. And for heaven's sake, don't follow him! This guy is special forces and he'll spot a tail from a mile away. Lorne out."

John was still being pinned bodily against the wall by Lorne's arm and the Colonel finally stepped away to release him. "I'm sorry, Sheppard. I had to stop you before you went and did something stupid."

"Why _did_ you stop me, Lorne?" He couldn't do this. If Lorne demanded answers from him, he wasn't going to be able to give them. And if he had to fight to be allowed to leave, he wasn't going to hesitate... his only hope was that his friend would forgive him someday. You know, if he even survived to someday.

"I was listening the entire time, John. Your phone call, what Fitzpatrick said; everything," Lorne admitted and John tried not to sag against the wall. This was exactly what Fitzpatrick had told him not to do. "I got back here as fast as I could. Why didn't he just kill you right then and there!?"

"You're asking _me_?" John exclaimed, shoving Evan Lorne back a few steps with hands he hadn't meant to raise in anger against his friend. "Why did that asshole do any of it? Why did he try to kill Carson? Why did he go to Blue River and kidnap my friggin' girlfriend? None of it makes any sense! And if I don't go meet him alone in," he checked his watch again, "forty five minutes, he's going to kill the woman I love, Lorne!"

He pushed away from the wall, making for the doorway, but Lorne grabbed him roughly by the shoulders and pinned him back against the wall. John balled a fist, ready to strike out in his desperation to get away, but a figure running through the door and screeching to a halt beside them broke through the red haze that had descended down around him.

"What'd I miss?" Rodney panted and Lorne stepped back and away from John again.

"Christ, you told McKay!?" he groaned.

"Of course I told McKay!" Lorne shot back angrily.

"Of course he told me!" Rodney scolded at the same time. "And something tells me I showed up just in time. What appears to be the problem here, gentlemen?"

Rodney was looking back and forth between the two of them expecting explanation. With scowl and arms folded over his chest he looked a bit like some irate parent that had just had to pull two of his sons off of each other.

"Brigadier General Sheppard here was just telling me how he plans to go meet a psychopath alone at the edge of the base with no backup," Lorne spat, anger still licking up the sides of his neck, painting the skin there red.

"You guys don't seem to understand what's going on here right now!" John practically roared, reopening the wounds on his palms as he dug fingernails back into them. "He has Carrie and if I don't show up there in a little less than an hour, he's going to slit her throat. You heard him Lorne! If I tell anyone, if I bring anyone with me, she's dead!"

They weren't getting it and John didn't know how to make them see. There was no time to make them see!

"So what were you planning to do, Sheppard. Huh?" Rodney asked, choosing a side. It was apparently going to be two against one, and the odds weren't in John's favor. "Were you just going to waltz in there all by yourself without a plan? Just hope that it goes your way? Leave it to you John Sheppard to go off all half cocked; diving in head first without even stopping to think first!"

"If I don't show, she's dead, Rodney. End of story. I don't need any more reason than that to dive in head first."

"We get it, John. Sheesh. Love of your life in peril, check." Rodney practically rolled his eyes and John resisted the sudden urge to haul off and deck him. Sometimes that man just didn't know when to shut the hell up.

"That's not funny, McKay," John muttered with his words instead of his fists like he had wanted to.

"No, I know it's not, Sheppard, and I'm sorry. But you always do this! You take everything on yourself and completely ignore the fact that you have all these friends around you who would be willing to do anything for you; even die!" Rodney pointed a finger at him angrily, but dropped it a moment later as his face softened.

"Look, all I'm saying is, let's stop for a second and try to think this through rationally."

"Somehow I don't think 'rational' is a word in Fitzpatrick's vocabulary at the moment, Rodney," John bit back sarcastically, trying not to let what Rodney had said penetrate his defenses. "He tried to poison Carson. He's killed how many people? No, I need to go. Now."

"Oh my _god!_ " Rodney bellowed, blocking John's way bodily before he could even think to make a break for it. "It's like talking to a brick wall with you! Would you please get your head out of your ass for one freakin' minute? Just stop playing Rambo long enough to listen to the plan we came up with!"

But John just shook his head. No one else was going to die because of him. No damn way.

"It's _Carrie_ , Rodney," he croaked out, not caring how the words came out if they helped to get his point across. "If Fitzpatrick even thinks for a moment that I brought backup, she's as good as dead. I can't risk it."

"You don't have to, John." It was Lorne who spoke and John looked over at the Colonel who had otherwise been quiet through most of John and Rodney's argument. "McKay and I have an idea."

"You and McKay, huh?" He asked with an almost chuckle. A little of the bluster drained away from him. While Rodney McKay Plans did tend to lean toward the more ludicrous, even John had to admit that, every so often, the scientist managed to come up with something pretty ingenious. And if Lorne had gotten on board with it, then maybe it was worth listening to.

"...Alright," John said on a heavy sigh, hoping he wasn't about to make the biggest mistake of his life.

"You get five minutes. Make 'em count."

..

\oO0Oo/

..

Exactly twenty minutes later, armed with a new state of the art earwig Rodney promised no one could detect, John rocked the jeep he was driving down the narrow access road leading to the base cemetery.

It was dusk. The sun had begun its slow descent in the west behind him, already tucked behind the bluish-purple tip of Cheyenne Mountain growing smaller in his rearview.

The road John was traveling down was pocked with deep depressions gouged into the gravel by the constant freeze/thaw of the snow and the massive vehicle swayed as he 4-wheeled it over them faster than he probably should have. It was unseasonably warm outside as well and for several feet out from either side of the roadway the snow had receded enough to reveal muddy shoulders and brown dead grass.

And the colors matched his mood.

John white knuckled the steering wheel, wondering the whole time if he was being watched and if Fitzpatrick would ever suspect what they were up to.

"I don't like this," he said out loud and Rodney chortled in his ear.

" _Yeah, I got that the first twenty times you mentioned it, Sheppard."_

"Rodney, you do realize what's at stake for me here, right?" One of the jeep's wheels caught a particularly nasty depression in the roadway and John's stomach bottomed out for a moment as he was knocked about in the cab.

" _Yes, yes, prince charming._ _I'm well aware of how much you love her and how you're willing to throw down your own life in exchange for hers, and blah blah blah!_ _You need to relax._ _There's no way he sees this coming_."

"I still don't like it. He's smart McKay, and we gotta assume smart enough to think we might try something like this."

Rodney sighed in his ear. " _You know, Sheppard, there are studies out there that show increased anxiety levels can actually lead to better performance_."

"Not really helping, Rodney."

" _Would it work better if I told you about what your mother and I did in your bed last night_?"

"Rodney McKay!" John sputtered, amazed that the scientist could make such a tasteless joke. "I cannot believe you just said that to me!" If the scientist was already resorting to crude humor... John really was screwed, wasn't he?

" _Sorry, I think I've been hanging around those kids in the IT department for far too long_."

John held in a nervous laugh. "Alright, enough chit chat, Rodney. If I pull up and Fitzpatrick sees me jabbering to myself, he's going to know something's up."

" _You started it_ ," Rodney answered back a little petulantly but John let it lie.

He could already see the cemetery spreading itself out at the base of the hill he crested. The little cottage sat beside it, just inside the perimeter fence for the base, looking forlorn. The warmer evening air was mixing with the cold radiating up from frozen ground and fog was starting to form again. This time around, however, it wasn't the misty fog of morning. It was more like the heavy and oppressive haze from a horror movie and it meandered down from the mountain and across the ground to curl up over the headstone dotted landscape before him. John nearly shuddered, despite the warmer temperatures. For all he knew a stone would be erected in the middle of that haze for him someday soon, if this asinine plan failed to work.

They couldn't attack this problem in a conventional way and even John had to admit the plan that Lorne and Rodney had come up with was a pretty good one. In fact, he should have thought of it himself, considering. It would certainly help them to circumvent any surveillance Fitzpatrick might have put into place. They would be fools to think that former Seal wasn't going to be on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary. So, if they were careful... if they played this just right, then maybe the whole thing didn't end in the way his tired mind kept trying to suggest as the cemetery loomed ever closer.

The headstones before him rose from a thin sea of undulating white like ghosts from their graves and it was almost ominous, like some kind of portent of doom. He normally didn't believe in such things (and maybe he still didn't) but the anxiety and adrenalin high of the past few days was making him loopy where he needed to be level headed. Carrie's life depended on that focus; as well as his own. Yet if things didn't go how they were supposed to, and this was truly it for him, then there were things he needed to say.

"Hey... Rodney?"

" _Uh-uh, Sheppard._ Y _ou can just stop it right there..."_

"You don't even know what I was gonna say," he chuckled around a smothered half smile.

" _Right._ _No idea what you could possibly be thinking driving up on that nice spooky looking cemetery right there in front of you."_

"McKay..."

" _Just... save it, all right?_ _Tell me later after all this is over._ _Better yet, wait until Carson finally comes out of his coma, and then you can tell us both._ "

"Rodney, buddy, this is important." The voice on the other end of the connection stayed silent and John mustered his courage. "Remember to take care of each other."

He said it quietly and wondered for a moment if the scientist would remember and understand what he really meant by what he had just said... Rodney's continued silence was all the answer he needed.

"I'm going to go radio silent now," John finished with a hint of finality in his voice as the jeep pulled up in front of the cemetery gates on the crunch of cold gravel.

"Sheppard out."

John threw the jeep in park then sat back in the driver's seat, the enormity of what he was about to do steeling over him suddenly like the fog creeping down the mountainside to cover everything it touched in a blanket of surging white. It was like the world was as unsettled as he was but he'd run out of time to try and figure things out. The timetable couldn't be altered - not now, not ever - and he pushed the door beside him open with a shoulder. A damp wind pushed the heavy door back in on him slightly with a sudden gust and it licked up through the holes of his thin uniform almost making him shiver.

"Good luck, John." a voice said quietly in his ear, but he didn't dare risk a reply.

..

\oO0Oo/

..

The caretaker's cottage Fitzpatrick had directed him to sat fifty or so yards away from the base's perimeter fence. Flood lights affixed to the tall chain link had snapped on in the twilight a few minutes ago on the sizzle of snow damped circuits. Their pale illumination was casting strange, spiked shadows across the snow beneath John's boots. It was just the barbed wire at the top of the fences - keeping in for once what they had always meant to keep out - but John tried to ignore thoughts like that and kept moving forward.

There was no driveway up to the cottage and John trudged through a slushy mix of melting snow and suckling mud toward his destination, already sweating from the exertion. He was decked out from head to toe in gear so familiar he half wondered if perhaps the past 18 years had been nothing more than a dream. Some waking nightmare he'd been having while traversing the vast arctic terrain of some unpopulated planet in Pegasus. But Cheyenne Mountain thrusting up from between rolling foothills a few miles to his left didn't let that thought live for long.

John adjusted the tac vest secured snugly around his torso with a hand at the neck. The reassuring pressure on his ribs was helping to keep the pieces of himself from rattling apart all together as he walked. The familiar weight of his sidearm thumped reassuringly against his thigh in its holster. He had a P-90 clutched in clammy hands as well, though he highly doubted Fitzpatrick would allow him to hold onto the gun for long. In case that happened John had several other weapons strategically hidden on his person; his last resorts should all of this end badly. His last desperate attempts at exerting some kind of control over an already out of control situation.

As John walked, jumbled thoughts tumbled through his already crowded brain. Fitzpatrick was luring John out there with the promise of providing answers. That fact alone made everything about this entire operation seem off. The kid was taking a huge risk with sticking around. He was practically begging John to show up with guns blazing. But something was giving Fitzpatrick confidence that his plan was going to work, that he would be getting out of this alive, and John wasn't entirely sure holding Carrie over his head was what was giving him that confidence. There was something else, something John was continuing to miss and those thoughts sent his brain into a frenzy of conjecture.

But one thing was for certain. Sean Fitzpatrick was smart, murderously so, and John was going to have to be very, very careful.

John glanced down at his watch and picked up the pace a little. He was due at the cottage in less than five minutes and he resisted the urge to start rambling to Rodney in his anxiousness. His fingers tingled every so often, reminding him that he was far from alone and he tried to pull some comfort from that. The plan was a good one, he kept telling himself. It was going to work, and as the dilapidated shack emerged from the thickening fog in front of him, John held tight to that last glimmer of hope before the mist closed in around it completely.

The caretaker's cottage wasn't very big. Maybe 800 square feet not counting the parts of its second story that were sagging precariously in on themselves with decay. Firelight flickered out through carelessly boarded up windows he didn't dare risk looking through just yet. Smoke rose idly up from a hole in the roof where John imagined a chimney used to sit before it had collapsed. In fact, it's broken bricks lay scattered near the side of the house; a decaying skeleton of its former shape slowly being exposed by receding snow.

From a distance, John couldn't help but draw parallels between this place he approached and his own cabin sitting forgotten and empty in the Wisconsin wilderness. If he died he wondered if Eddie would take care of it at all for him. Maybe head out that way every so often or so to revisit the memories of a man that had slipped in and out of his life like a whisper. Would Carrie go back too, if he managed somehow to get her out of all of this alive?

For a moment John could almost imagine the porch he walked up onto was his own. It even had a light like his used to have. A porch light that never had been switched on because, for 20 years, John had gone to great lengths to never have to be dependent on power again. It had brought him nothing but desperate years of constantly searching for more of it. And yet here he was, about to enter into yet another race to gain the upper hand, to be the one who ran the board, and he was tired of it.

Bowed porch steps creaked beneath John's boot as if in sympathy, shattering any illusion he had of home. He mounted them carefully, aiming for stealth. As much as Fitzpatrick outmatched him in age and strength, John still had a lifetime's worth of military training to fall back on. Training that had taught him how to approach an enemy in absolute silence to slit his throat in the dark, then disappear back into the night without ever having been seen or discovered.

See, he could match Fitzpatrick in ruthlessness on the battlefield, there were just things he needed to do first.

He was trying to take John Sheppard, the man into a firefight where he needed John Sheppard, the soldier: that unforgiving Air Force Colonel that lay curled and unused at the base of his spine just waiting to be revived. Twenty years ago it would have been like flipping a switch, but today it was harder than he expected, especially with the woman he loved thrust into the middle of it all. That made it personal and he struggled to find his balance in all the madness. Knowing all along that if he failed, the cost would be as terrible to him as that day in the sky with the Wraith.

John approached the swollen 2x4s nailed crudely together, making up the cottage's temporary front door, and wondered absently where the original might have gotten to. A padlock used to hold the door shut at one time but its thick metal had been shorn through crudely with bolt cutters and its mangled remains dangled from a rusty hook beside the door. The wind had picked up again, gathering speed as it whipped down from the mountains to lift the hair at the back of John's neck and rattle the twisted metal against the doorframe.

Taking a breath and closing his eyes for the briefest of moments to center himself one final time, John put a steady hand out and slowly pulled the door back to enter the cottage, gun muzzle first.

The light in the decaying shack was smoky and it took John's eyes several seconds to grow accustomed to the low, murky light. The house was one massive great room with a loft that disappeared into darkness above the weak firelight that lit the place from within a huge stone fireplace at the far end of the room. There were two chairs sitting in front of the fire, too close to the flames to be comfortable for their occupants, both of whom were hooded and bound. John could tell immediately that one of the figures was Carrie - he could tell just by her frame - but the other one was male and his brain offered no hint of recognition.

Not that it mattered. As soon as his eyes zeroed in on Carrie, the rest of the world practically fell away.

John took a lurching step forward then made himself stop mid-stride. He could feel eyes on him, watching him from above, and if Fitzpatrick was on the upper level waiting to take him out, John would be making himself too easy of a target. He couldn't risk just striding across the open room, bold as brass. And yet... he kept having to remind himself that the former Seal had promised to explain everything, and that remembered oath had John throwing caution to the wind. He raised his P-90 up closer to his face, trained it at the dark spaces disappearing above, and made a mad dash across the wooden floor of the cottage to crouch beside Carrie's trembling form. This close to the wall, he was no longer visible to anyone lurking above.

Carrie was shaking uncontrollably as he drew near, but trembling was good. The fact that she was quaking beneath the reassuring hands he put on either one of her arms meant that she was still very much alive.

"I'm here, Car," he whispered and lifted the hood carefully away from her face.

Carrie was pale, but her eyes were bright.

Sweat from the heat of the fire had plastered her blond hair against the sides of her face and neck, but it was those eyes that drew John in immediately. They filled first with utter relief as their gazes finally met against the flickering backdrop of the firelight behind her, then filled a moment later with tears as John held her sweat dampened face between trembling palms and put the promise of rescue there behind his own eyes.

"I got you."

Carrie was gagged and, bending forward, John began fumbling earnestly with the complicated knot at the base of her skull, listening all the while for any signs of an approaching Fitzpatrick.

The injustice of their reunion after so long apart was infuriating. It should have been tender and sweet, not terror laced and outlined in fire.

Carrie let her forehead rest against John's shoulder as he worked. Relieved breath spilled over the flesh of his neck and he let his cheek fall against the side of her face as he struggled with the unyielding knot. There was something wet splashing against his skin and he urged his fingers to work faster to free her, eventually giving up to go for the small pocket knife in the breast pocket of his vest.

But a deep voice rumbling to his left froze John mid reach.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

The voice washed over John in an icy wave, bringing with it remembered snippets of nearly forgotten conversation; secrets he'd spilled to a traitor. The heavy footsteps on unstable boards cut through the sudden silence in the cottage. Not even the crackling fire or John's own heartbeat in his ears could breach the sudden stillness that descended over everything as time held its breath.

Rising from his crouch on the floor, John brushed lips lightly against Carrie's dampened brow, slipping something small into one of her bound hands discretely and searching her eyes to make sure she understood. Those eyes filled with fear and for a moment John wanted to reassure her that he would do everything in his power to get her out of this alive. Only that wasn't the kind of fear he was witnessing. She was telling him to be careful; more concerned with his safety then her own.

John gave her his best impression of a reassuring smile, then slowly turned around to face the man picking his way cautiously down the rickety stairs that were little more than a glorified ladder, disappearing up into he darkness of the loft above.

Sean Fitzpatrick was moving carefully and leveling such a gaze at John that he instinctually moved forward to put himself between Carrie and the man that had finally reached the main level.

Fitzpatrick had on a Kevlar vest. Where John's was pocketed with compartments for all manner of gear needed for off-world missions, Fitzpatrick's was simple and plain and he held a berretta loosely in one hand at his side. His trigger finger was idly tapping the side of the gun, not curled around the trigger like it could have been, but John still secured his own P-90 closer to his chest.

Fitzpatrick had that look in his eye again. That one that made John want to mow the bastard down right then and there with automatic weapons fire until he was as dead and as cold as Carson could have been. But it was what the man had clutched in his other hand that had John rethinking that particular plan.

"You've had enough experience with these to know what this is, I presume?" Fitzpatrick inquired coldly and John stared at the device the former Seal held out for him to see. The light was impossibly low, but there was no mistaking what it was.

"It's a dead man's switch," he said back, just as coldly, trying to hide his worry behind a false front of faked bravado. This was going to complicate things...

" _We heard, John._ _Get him talking._ _Find out what it does._ _We read three distinct energy sources in there with you,_ " Rodney's worried voice came through on the earwig.

John pulled in a breath and tried to wipe everything going through his mind away from his features lest he give something away.

"What's the switch for, kid?"

"Not what you think," Fitzpatrick said coyly with a glint in his eye, "Well, that's not entirely true. I've wired the place and she's sitting on enough C4 to successfully relocate that chair to Timbuktu. So I would seriously reconsider any ideas your getting in that head of yours, about trying to overpower me for this." Fitzpatrick held up the switch again.

"Alright buddy. You've got my attention now. What the hell's going on here?"

"What's going on here John, is that your buddy Eddie in Blue River seriously screwed things up for me and now I've gotta move up my timetable. It's sloppy now, and I don't like sloppy."

"Timetable for what, Fitz?" He questioned, but the former Seal either didn't hear the question, or ignored it.

"Fuck, John! This wasn't how any of it was supposed to go down!" The man standing before John seemed to collapse in on himself suddenly.

Shoulders slumping, he let his head fall forward to shake it sadly and if John had thought for one moment that he might be able to secure the switch in time, he would have taken his shot right then and there. But when Fitzpatrick looked back up at him again, John stopped short and was glad he hadn't made his move.

Fitzpatrick looked... unhinged, and the frantic firelight licking up around them wasn't helping matters much. It gave the illusion of something sinister boiling just below his surface and John had the funny feeling that if that kid's exterior began to crack, there was no stopping the madness just waiting to claw itself up and out into the open.

John tensed at that thought, and Fitzpatrick saw.

"But you don't believe me, do you?." The firelight glinted dangerously on the blackness that had taken over his eyes.

"Then why don't you try explaining some of it to me, Fitz? Because right now all I see is a guy who kidnapped my girlfriend, tried to murder my best friend last night, and who has been poisoning anyone with the ATA gene. Maybe after that we can get back to whether or not I'm going to believe one single thing that comes out of your mouth."

Fitzpatrick stumbled forward, looking as though he was desperate to start defending his actions to John, but stopped short. Something like uncertainly flashed across his face. It clashed with the madness still clinging there from before and he flicked suspicious eyes over to the twin windows on either side of the front door. He was weary of snipers, John realized, and if fate had any love left for him at all, one was in position already.

"Loose the P-90," Fitzpatrick said, raising his own gun to train it at John's chest. "Now! I'm not having this fucking conversation with you with a gun pointed at my head."

Irony not lost on John, he clenched his jaw to keep from commenting. "How about we both lose the guns?" He tried instead, but Fitzpatrick just shook his head.

"I don't think so Sheppard." Fitzpatrick nearly laughed at John's transparent attempt at leveling the playing field. "Now drop it or I put a bullet through your skull and then one through your whore."

That wild something was back in Fitzpatrick's eyes and John shot his hands up quickly in surrender. The former Seal was a time bomb just waiting to go off, and John was going to have to be very careful not to detonate him too soon.

"Okay, okay! Just relax, kid." He leaned over to carefully place the P-90 on the ground near his feet.

"And lose the vest while you're at it," Fitzpatrick ordered acidly and John complied, laying it on top of the P-90 hoping Fitzpatrick would just let it stay there, or better yet, come an collect it himself. But that plan fell apart a moment later when Fitzpatrick ordered him to kick the semi automatic weapon over to where he still stood in the shadows.

John did so, albeit dejectedly, and kept himself between Fitzpatrick and the two bound figures behind him.

"Alright, chief. You've got me here and I'm unarmed, now. What's next, bullet between the eyes?"

"It all wasn't supposed to happen this way, Sheppard," Fitzpatrick said again and John had to fight against the urge to roll his eyes as the former Seal repeated that fact for the umpteenth time.

"Yeah, you keep saying that! Just tell me what the hell is going on here, cheif!" If he got Fitzpatrick talking, maybe he could get him out into the open... Grab the switch before the former Seal hit the ground...

"Did you ever stop to wonder about who it was that pulled you out of that hospital in San Francisco, Sheppard?" Fitzpatrick asked out of the blue and John's thoughts halted.

Whatever he had been expecting the former Seal to say, that certainly hadn't been it.

"Excuse me?"

"Just answer the damn question, John," Fitzpatrick said a little more forcefully and raised the berretta up again to aim it squarely at the center of his chest once more.

"Yes! Okay?" He admitted, spreading his arms to cover more of Carrie when Fitzpatrick's eyes flashed again. "All the time! Just... point that damn thing somewhere else, would ya?"

But Fitzpatrick ignored him.

"It was me, John," the former Seal said plainly, like he was crossing something off a grocery list. The hand holding the berretta fell back down to his side. "Well, not me personally, but a cousin of mine who worked in the ER they brought you to."

John's brow creased. "You?" It didn't make any sense. "But... _why_?"

"Because of what they did to us that day, John! I got away. But I had to make sure they couldn't get to you anymore."

John felt the color drain from his face.

It couldn't be.

"They came after me, too. Did you know that?"

John shook his head, more out of shock than to really answer Fitzpatrick's question.

Comprehension ran through his brain with all the grace of a steamroller, obliterating everything in its path as it flattened things he had held true for so many years and any preconceived notions it came across.

"I always wanted to ask Dr. McKay if he ever figured that out during his investigation. I couldn't, of course. He's a pretty smart guy and I knew it would be a bad idea to tip him off about who I was. At least not before I finally stopped the Atlantis Expedition for good. Guess now we'll never know though, will we?"

Fitzpatrick's offhanded comment cut through the din in John's head. "What do you mean by that, Fitzpatrick?"

"Gas, John! Isn't it great? Canisters of cyanide gas hooked up to the mountain's main ventilation system just waiting for me to let go of this switch." He held it aloft in the air. "And you know what's funny? Once you understand what I've done for you, you're going to be begging me to let you set them off yourself!"

John was floored by what he was hearing coming from the former Seal's mouth. Where was the level headed psychologist who had helped him? The man standing before John now was manic and seriously just suggested that John would be on board with mass murder.

"Who the hell are you, Fitzpatrick?" He ground out, realizing immediately that getting angry might not be the best idea. The fire beside them flared higher as if feeding off the rage that ignited behind Fitzpatrick's eyes next.

"You tell me John. I gave you all the clues you need to figure it out."

But his theory just couldn't be true.

"Come on, Sheppard. Don't make me regret letting you live." Fitzpatrick moved further into the room, propelled forward on his own madness.

John coiled in anticipation of moving forward to grab at the switch. He held his breath waiting to see if anyone had the kill shot, but nothing happened. His fingers twitched with the urge to raise his hand to his ear, pissed beyond measure that Rodney's voice had remained resolutely silent in his head. He needed to know what the plan was so he could go after that switch if anything happened. The lives of everyone in that mountain depended on it now.

" _We're searching the base, John._ _Just keep him talking_ ," a frantic voice finally rang out and John tried not to react to it.

"Not even a guess, John?" Fitzpatrick said darkly, and raised the pistol to finally point it at John's head.

He froze, unwilling to put into words what his brain had been suggesting for the past few minutes.

"Time's up, Sheppard. Now or never."

"You were the kid in the chair at Area 51," he choked. "The one who destroyed all the Hive ships with me."

"That's right, John!" Fitzpatrick sneered with a vicious upward twist of the corners of his mouth. "See, I told you there was hope for you yet."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for all the cliffhangers. I'll update again soon! :)


	20. Sean Fitzpatrick's Revenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic violence and language in this one.

There was a war waging inside of John Sheppard.

On either side of battle lines drawn in the sand were cajoling masses of disordered thought and both were equally ferocious; gnashing broken teeth and swords at the same time in his head. The million and a half questions he had for the kid standing before him took up one side of the battle whilst his anger at what Fitzpatrick had done stood resolutely on the other side, ready to defend to the death that inner sanctum of trust that John Sheppard had always guarded so carefully.

Fitzpatrick was the kid the IOA had put into the chair after Carson had refused to be a party to mass murder. He was the unknown soldier who was the only other person on the face of the planet who knew exactly what John Sheppard had gone through that terrible day so many years ago. They were connected on a level that was unimaginable, and yet the kid currently had a gun pointed at his head with murder flashing behind his eyes.

Nothing about it was right. The universe had screwed up again because on that first day, as soon as John had walked into the training rooms and up to that big burly Irishman, something should have happened. The skies should have opened up. The earth should have begun to shake. This was a revelation that should have ended the world… and there was nothing. Fate should have at least given John some kind of sign that he was coming face to face with the only other man who knew what it was like to end two billion lives… but there had been nothing.

John couldn't help but wonder if he was still being punished for what had happened that day 20 years ago because waltzing down the line drawn between the two warring sides of his brain, cool as a cucumber, was a vein of calm and rational thought.

Fitzpatrick, in some bizarre show of loyalty John didn't quite understand - not even realizing the damage he was doing - had gotten John out of the hospital in San Francisco. He'd done it in some twisted attempt at keeping John safe from the IOA but in doing so had also cut John off from everything he truly needed to survive. If only he'd stayed in that Denver hospital a few more days, or however long it took Fitz to reach him from Nevada. Then maybe John could have helped this lost kid standing before him somehow. Maybe then they would have been able to help each other, rather than end up here, in this moment, with guns and bombs and canisters filled with cyanide gas separating them on the battlefield.

They'd been through the same unimaginable horror, and John couldn't help but notice how differently they'd handled that trauma… and how close he had come to sharing in Fitzpatrick's madness. For dark, dark years he hadn't told anyone about yet, John had entertained sinister ideas of what he would do with those responsible for ruining his life if he ever got his hands on them. Revenge had always been an enticing prospect in his head and he would pull it out every so often in his years of exile to examine it closely. Maybe even make desperate plans of how it would all go down when he needed something to distract himself from the life he'd chosen for a while. But they had always been just that: plans, and ones he knew he would never follow through on. And that was where the similarities between John Sheppard and Sean Fitzpatrick ended.

Fitz had let what had been done to them twist his insides into unrecognizable black highways of madness. He was threatening to murder an entire mountain of people over what had been done to them and seemed to be under the strange delusion that John was going to want to help. And as much as that thought revolted him – as much as it shook him to his very core and went against everything he stood for - he couldn't help but wonder, had his life been different, would he be in the same place as Sean Fitzpatrick was now? Would he have chosen this violent path over the one he had taken, had he not had friends like Rodney McKay and Carson Beckett, or his memories of Atlantis and fallen friends, to fall back on? While he couldn't say yes to that question, he couldn't say no to it either, and that fact alone had John Sheppard looking Sean Fitzpatrick over in a whole new light.

Their pasts were inches apart from each other and had even traversed the same vector for a time, yet had veered off course from one another so completely twenty years ago. But while their futures were miles apart now, John could understand the place where Fitzpatrick was coming from and a little of the anger inside of him released.

Lord help him, but he could understand it.

"Is that why you killed all the ATA gene carriers, Fitz? Because of what happened to us that day?" John asked almost quietly, letting the sharp edge to his voice fall away.

Evening had settled outside of the cottage. The windows across the way were dark now and John wondered if it was truly as late as the light suggested, or if it was just a trick of the mist that had once again taken over the mountain. The heat inside the house was stifling now and as Fitzpatrick looked over at him, John noticed the kid was sweating. They all were really. It was a wonder the fireplace was working at all and the heat it's blazing fire produced was mixing with the tension in the room. The two forces roiled together making everything in the main living space feel heavy and thick. Even the look Fitzpatrick through him next seemed to have too much weight behind it.

Fitzpatrick had picked up on the sudden change in John's demeanor and was eyeing him doubtfully.

"The expedition can't be allowed to continue, Sheppard," he said with dead eyes and that voice devoid of emotion. "I won't allow it, John."

"But why kill them, Fitz? Why not…?"

"Are you kidding me?" Fitzpatrick interrupted with eyes widening. The gun still pointed at John shook in the young man's hand. "As long as there are people around able to power the ancient technology, the SGC is never going to stop trying to get Atlantis back to the Pegasus Galaxy, John. You of all people should get that now. Look at what they did to you! They tracked you down in the Wisconsin wilderness for Christ's sake and dragged you back here just so they could get their precious program back up and running. After everything that had happened to us, they still came and that right there should have clued you in to the type of people they have running this operation, Sheppard.

I mean, come on, John! They were so eager to get their star quarterback up off the bench and back into the game that they let _me_ , a high school drop out with nothing more than a GED and a fake college diploma, play shrink to their most valuable player.

And I faked _everything_ , John. My service record, my schooling, my psychology degree, all of it. And it was pretty fucking easy too. They were sooo desperate to get you right in the head again that they practically just let me waltz on base. If they can't even be bothered to protect what they consider to be their most valuable assets, what does that say about how they feel about the rest of the human race, John?"

"But you were helping me kid!" He exclaimed with disbelief coloring his voice high. "Why do all of that if you were just trying to stop the entire expedition all along?"

Fitzpatrick practically laughed. "Do you have any idea how closely they were watching you John? The only time I was able to get anywhere near you was in the training rooms and even then Dr. Beckett was always on his monitors. Always watching and listening to everything I said to you."

"We were alone on Atlantis," John pointed out but Fitzpatrick just shook his head.

"But not truly. I couldn't risk someone overhearing, not with all the new security measures they were adding to Atlantis. And I had to keep up appearances, John. Otherwise they were all going to figure out that I wasn't who I said I was.

But I had a plan John. I was going to take you paintballing like we discussed to help you get your mind off Dr. Beckett and explain everything then. And then you and me were going to come back here and finally end all of this, once and for all. But your guard dog in Blue River had to go and fuck it all up for me with one goddamn phone call and now here we are... You don't trust me anymore and none of this is going how I had planned!"

"And I never am going to trust you, Fitz," John started out carefully, watching Fitzpatrick for any sign that his control was about to crack. The kid seemed to respond best when John remained calm, so he chose his next words cautiously. "I can't trust you. Not when you've got my girlfriend wired to a dead man's switch. Maybe I'd have a little easier time with all of this if you'd just let her go. Let her walk out of here alive and unharmed and I'll listen to anything you have to say, buddy."

"Oh relax, John," Fitzpatrick actually rolled his eyes with a dramatic sigh. "I had to make sure you knew I was serious, had to make sure you were going to listen to me, so I might have over exaggerated that part a little." Fitz ducked his head sheepishly. "I don't really have her explosives wired to this," he raised the hand holding the switch, "only the gas cans hidden in the mountain."

"So you'll let her go?" John asked almost hopefully, gesturing towards the front door and the marines he could only hope were waiting there, hidden in the mist.

Fitzpatrick shook his head and in the firelight, looked almost devilish. "Not so fast, Romeo. She's still sitting on enough C4 to level this place and pressure switches that won't deactivate until I release the gas. Once you help me do that though, John, she's home free. I promise."

Fitzpatrick's lip curled upwards into something that must have been an attempt at a smile, but all John could see lingering there behind it, was the madness that seemed to be fueling the kid's rage. He was talking again about John helping him to kill everyone in the mountain and John's brain was back to trying to figure out what plan he could have in place that would make him think John would even entertain such an idea. He hoped it was just the result of a warped mind thinking it knew what made John tick, but there was still the unknown other person tied and hooded, sitting before the fire, unmoving.

 _"_ _We're still here John._ _Just keep him talking._ _We'll have the mountain secure soon!"_ Rodney's voice came over the earwig and John hid his relief at finally getting an update with a quick look over his shoulder at Carrie.

Backlit by the roaring fire, John couldn't see much of her face but her eyes shone out even in the strange light and he caught them for a moment. It lasted for little more than a fraction of a second, but he pulled what he needed from the look she gave him and the "I love you" she managed to mouth around the impossibly tight gag to turn around and face Fitzpatrick once more.

Rodney wanted John to keep the kid talking, then that's what he'd do.

"How can I believe anything you tell me, Fitz? You tried to kill Carson Beckett yesterday..."

"No, John!" Fitzpatrick interrupted. "You have to understand something about that!"

The kid took a step towards him with his hands outstretched and brow creased in placation, but John stiffened, instantly on high alert. When the kid realized what his sudden movements had done, he stepped back with a heavy sigh and let his chin rest against his chest as he continued on sadly.

"I know he was your friend, Sheppard, but he forced my hand." Fitz went on with head still bowed. "Dr. Beckett was going to restart his ATA gene research and once he did, I knew it was only a matter of time before he realized who I was. And I couldn't allow him to do this to someone else, John. That gene therapy... it _changed_ me." Fitzpatrick looked back up and flickering firelight caught the moisture gathering in his eyes, making them shine for a moment. But it was black, not silver, that caught the light.

"Carson Beckett turned me into a fucking monster with that poison of his and I had to stop him any way I could before he ruined someone else's life."

Then just as suddenly as the black had been there, it disappeared.

"But I was always going to make it up to you John!" he promised with pleading eyes desperately seeking approval. "If you don't believe anything else I tell you, believe that one thing. I knew his death was going to destroy you at first so I was going to bring you here and reunite you with your girl and then give you something back in exchange for what I took.

And this thing I have for you is big John.

It's huge! And something you've wanted ever since that day they forced us to kill all those billions of innocent people."

Fitzpatrick moved forward again, but instead of approaching John, he stopped just beside the other chair near the fire. The figure in it hadn't moved or uttered a sound the entire time but as soon as Fitzpatrick approached, the body in the chair began to tremble so violently, John worried for a moment that the movement might set off whatever pressure switches Fitzpatrick had set up. The other chair must not have been wired though, because Fitzpatrick grabbed it from the back and yanked it ruthlessly away, dragging it loudly over the floorboards and back over to where he had been standing. The bound figure was jerked brutally in his seat and John thought he caught the barest hint of a strangled whimper as tied wrists slit open in bloody cuts as the rope bit into skin mercilessly.

Fitzpatrick's eyes were dangerous again and John watched everything carefully. He had to buy Rodney and Lorne more time to search the mountain and get everyone to safety. Either that or else try and wrestle that switch away from Fitzpatrick somehow. But the kid had a good 100 pounds and enough crazy on him to easily win that fight and there was still the fact that Fitz was the only one with a gun. Not to mention there was now a hooded and bound unknown figure between them and the way Fitzpatrick was looking over at John, he figured, whoever it was, the kid considered it his biggest bargaining chip yet.

John felt as though they were coming to some kind of defining moment. All the pieces seemed to be finding one another and were waiting, swirling around in the space above their heads, for that one big piece that would bring them all together and make the picture whole and clear. Only John couldn't decide if he really wanted to know who Fitzpatrick had brought.

Something about the figure in the chair in front of John was familiar, but he couldn't get his addled brain focused enough to venture a guess as to who it might be. All he was certain of was the fact that Fitzpatrick seemed to think him important. Important enough to excuse the kid of everything he had done up until that point and important enough to get John on board with whatever dastardly plan Fitzpatrick had cooking up in that seriously mixed-up noggin of his.

Fitzpatrick rested the hand still wrapped around his gun on the quaking figure's shoulder then pressed the barrel into the fabric of the hood, pulling another strangled noise from the figure beneath. He smiled then, all teeth and madness and John shifted a little to make sure his body was completely covering Carrie who still sat behind him quietly.

As fucked up as the situation was, John drew some comfort from the knowledge that Carrie was not in any immediate danger should Fitzpatrick decide to release the dead man's switch he had clutched in his other hand. For some reason fate seemed to have granted John a reprieve in that one thing, only he couldn't imagine what was going through Carrie's mind at the moment. She'd put on a brave face earlier, but if he got them all out of this alive, if he went through with a plan to ask her along to Pegasus that had only just begun to start to form in his mind before all this had happened, would she even want to go? John had put her through hell, and that was even before he'd agreed to come back to the SGC. Now she was strapped to a chair and sitting on enough C4 to vaporize them all, and John had put her there. Maybe not intentionally, but it was a consequence of his actions, and he wondered if that was a forgivable thing.

"I'm not the bad guy here, John," Fitzpatrick was saying, pulling him out of his internal struggle. "Do you remember what we talked about in the training room the other day? I told you that there are people out there who really are to blame for everything that happened to us twenty years ago. I've dedicated my life to making sure that each and every one of them paid for what they did. And they paid John. I got to them all except for one.

One I saved just for you.

God, you have no idea how long I searched for you after you disappeared from that hospital in Denver, John. How long I scoured the globe looking for you. We were supposed to do this together! But you left me and then I had to find out that you were in Wisconsin the whole time shacking up with that one!" Fitz said angrily, waiving the gun in Carrie's general direction and John shifted, uncomfortable with the shift in conversation.

"Think of everything we could have done together, John!" Fitzpatrick cried. "If only you would have waited for me! Why didn't you wait for me, John? Why?"

"Fitz," he started incredulously, shaking his head slightly at the question, "I woke up in a hospital registered under a fake name, completely alone and thinking the IOA was going to try and kill me again! What did you expect me to do, buddy?"

"I don't know! Try and get some answers first, before you just disappeared off the face of the earth? I needed you, John! And now those bastards have brainwashed you again and I have to try and undo what they've done!

"I'm not the bad guy here," the kid repeated, eyes going darker. "It was the decision makers and those who let it happen, who are the true villains of our story. Remember?"

The figure beneath Fitzpatrick's hands flinched visibly, pulling at his bonds with raw wrists as he tried to get away.

"Believe me, John, once you do this, once you put a bullet in his brain, you're going to be free! And then you and I can release the gas together, and finally end this all of this once and for all.

No more Wraith. No more SGC! It will be over, finally." Fitzpatrick reached forward, brutally tearing the hood away from the head of the figure sitting bound in the chair.

Anger and bile rose up into the back of John's throat in an instant. Promises made years ago echoed around in his head and John clenched his fists into tight balls of fury. Something dark overtook him then and it was mixing dangerously with that part of himself that would always value human life... But the funny thing about white was, as soon as you let it mix with even the slightest bit the black, you got gray. And no matter how much white you tried to dump back into it, you still only ever got gray.

..

\oO0Oo/

..

Being back in a puddle jumper again was a surreal experience. It wasn't often that the SGC even allowed Lorne to fly them, let alone use them on missions, so Rodney McKay really hadn't been in one for years. The offer had been made. Every so often Lorne would find him in his lab and ask if he'd like to take a ride up in whatever one he was testing at the moment, but Rodney had always found himself declining. It wasn't that he didn't want to fly in one; it had never been a question of want. There were just things the jumpers had always reminded him of, so he'd always said no.

It wasn't logical. It wasn't even a very interesting reason. He just _missed_ this and being back in the jumper had him remembering just how very much.

Rodney McKay's ATA gene had been bread in a petri dish. It wasn't natural like John's or Carson's. Yet despite that one indelible fact, he still felt a connection with Atlantis. Even after all these years.

Because of that city - for the first time in his life - he'd truly learned to live. It was also where he had come to the swift, yet humbling realization that, though the people he'd been forced to work with at first with were beneath him intellectually, there was some (well, one, in particular) who were willing to lay down their lives to protect him. And not just because it was their jobs... but because they actually cared. That fact had changed him fundamentally somehow. Rodney hadn't often known what it was like to be cared for in that way in those early years of his life. Arrogance had been a strange bedfellow, and one that hadn't often allowed for intruders... and yet some people had still managed to push in.

Every once in a great while, when Torren had been young, he would look up at Rodney in this way that reminded him so much of Teyla it would nearly bend him at the middle. The puddle jumpers did that to him, too. They bent him at the middle because he missed them all so terribly and now, just as he'd finally managed to put some of his family back together again, fate was trying to rip one of them away from him again.

Rodney looked up from the tablet in his lap to check the status of the heat signatures throbbing away on the screen of the HUD. There were several areas of liquid reds and oranges, but none burned as brightly as the pulsating one in the center. John was down there in that cottage trying desperately to buy them more time to secure the mountain and all Rodney could do up in the cloaked Jumper hovering above it all, was imagine what John's heat signature would do should this all end badly.

It wouldn't fade; not at first. It would take his body some time to cool...

Rodney gripped the tablet he held in his hands tighter and tried not to let his pessimistic brain make him even more of a mess than he already was. He'd managed to hold it together this long, and falling apart now was not going to do him, or anyone else involved in this whole debacle, any favors.

As if picking up on his agitation, the kid piloting the jumper next to him let its nose dip towards the earth for a moment, but quickly corrected the mistake.

"Sorry, Dr. McKay," he mumbled quickly with a cracking voice and Rodney couldn't bring himself to criticize.

He could still remember the stress and the erratic path of his own first flight. Could still picture that insufferable lift to the side of John's mouth as he ran his finger along the zigzagging lines Rodney had made his first time out, barely able to stifle a laugh.

No, the young man in the pilot's chair was doing a pretty bang up job, considering. He'd been thrust into the middle of all this because he was the only ATA gene carrier capable of flying the jumper without an instructor. Rodney would have done it, only he had wanted to focus all his attention on trying to find any information he could on Sean Fitzpatrick. Lorne could also have flown, but his expertise had been needed elsewhere as well.

And speaking of Lorne, Rodney turned in his seat slightly to glance back at the Colonel who was pacing the rear compartment, screaming into his earpiece, and trying to coordinate a mountain wide evacuation all from the back of a puddle jumper. There were several heavily armed marines back there with him and they were all watching the agitated man walk up and down the space like the spectators at a tennis match. They should have all been down on the ground surrounding that cottage ready to storm it, only Rodney had held them back when Fitzpatrick had let slip his plans to gas the mountain.

What had started as a fight for two lives was now suddenly a race to save thousands and Rodney had ordered them off until John could figure out what exactly Fitzpatrick had planned, or at least until they could evacuate and secure the mountain. It was too much of a risk. If they tipped Fitzpatrick off somehow and he let go of that switch too soon... Plus, Rodney was convinced it was what John would have wanted him to do.

...The needs of the many outweighing the needs of the few, and all that moral bullshit.

Rodney was fine with morals. He even had a few of them himself, but things tended to get murky when one of your last surviving friends was down in a cottage with a gun pointed at his head.

Forcing himself back around in his chair, Rodney nearly sat on his hands. All he wanted to do was touch at his earwig and babble out to John about how they all got through this alive and unharmed. Convince his friend somehow that they had everything under control and that in a matter of mere minutes, the threat would be eliminated and John could tear that psychopath's throat out if he wanted to.

Rodney had seen John Sheppard angry before. He knew what could ignite at the center of that man when provoked, and Rodney couldn't even imagine what he was going to turn into now that the woman he loved was involved. That was a side of John Rodney had never seen before and he wondered if Fitzpatrick truly understood what it was he was getting himself into taking John on like this.

Focusing in on something he could actually control, Rodney went back to staring at the tablet he held in his hands and listening in on the conversation going on below him. John had managed to get Fitzpatrick talking again and as the deranged man continued to spout off new information about who he might be, Rodney went searching for answers. Anything that could help John take that kid down once the mountain was secure could help.

 _"...I faked everything, John._ _My service record, my schooling, my psychology degree, all of it._ _And it was pretty fucking easy too..._ "

How Sean Fitzpatrick had managed to make it past their extensive background checks and security protocols (some of which Rodney had put in place himself) was anyone's guess. He could only assume that the kid was smart and Rodney was scouring every database and internet resource available to him trying to get more information. Only Fitzpatrick was a ghost. There was nothing, as if the IOA itself had scrubbed away his very existence from all public record... and maybe they had done just that.

Shit! That meant Rodney's only reliable source of information on who Sean Fitzpatrick really was, was lying comatose in the infirmary clinging to life.

" _They were so desperate to get you right in the head again that they practically let me waltz on base_."

And wasn't that a fact. They had, every single one of them, been taken in by that burly Irishman's quiet manners and eagerness to help John Sheppard to heal, but Rodney had always felt like there was something off about the young kid. He was too... invasive and he had insinuated himself in John's life so entirely, and so very quickly. But Rodney had struggled with those thoughts. He'd wondered the entire time if they actually came from a place of genuine unease, or just plain jealousy. Jealousy that Fitzpatrick had been doing for John what Rodney never could.

Ever since he'd dragged Sheppard back to the SGC Rodney had felt responsible for him somehow. It was crooked and cockeyed and a complete 180 from the relationship they'd shared 20 years ago, but Rodney didn't care. He'd been the one to take the trip out to Blue River, Wisconsin to bring him back and he'd done that willingly too, even though he didn't have the slightest clue as to what he was going to find when he finally reached that little cabin in the woods. What the IOA had done to John, it was inexcusable, and there had been several moments in the car cruising down the highway from the airport and through the Wisconsin countryside, where Rodney had very nearly turned himself around and started back in the other direction. If he had pulled up onto that cabin to find John Sheppard irrevocably altered and a shadow of the man Rodney had known from before, it would have destroyed him completely.

But Rodney's fears had been unfounded. Sure, John had been different, but behind that Paul Bunion beard he had sprouted, there were still hints of the man he had once been. God, seeing John Sheppard again after nearly 20 years of thinking him dead had been surreal, to say the least. And the fact that Rodney had found him whole and functioning was just icing on the cake.

Yet, on the other hand, it had also been Rodney who had convinced John to return to the SGC in the first place. If it hadn't been for him, none of this would be happening now. But there wasn't time to worry about all that right now. The conversation on the other end of the secure line had abruptly stopped and Rodney McKay focused back into his work, praying he hadn't just missed something important.

..

\oO0Oo/

..

Indescribable.

It was the only word he could come up with to explain the clashing mass of sensations that assaulted his body all at once.

John was going to be sick.

The man in the chair before him was bound, gagged and shaking like a leaf. All the while starting up at John with wide and frightened eyes that begged for rescue.

John knew Fitzpatrick was watching him closely, gauging his reaction, but nothing John tried would make his gaze break away from the cowering man before him.

Richard Woolsey looked old. Time had not been kind to the man. His face was a network of creases. One, John imagined, for every life that he had taken. One for every sleepless night he'd lived through. Woolsey's hair was nearly gone now but the white half ring that remained was long and stringy with sweat and sticking out at ridiculous angles that had the man looking a bit like some kind of deranged mad scientist.

They were details John hadn't noticed in the heat of their last meeting but in which he reveled now.

"Fitz, you brought him here for me?" He knew he was supposed to be pissed. That he needed to be thinking of a way to get out of this before someone really got hurt, but Fitzpatrick had just hand delivered revenge on a silver platter. It was sitting right there just waiting for him to take it, and it had managed to stir something dark and hungry deep down his most darkest of recesses. A something he had long thought dormant and in no danger of escaping...

"I did, John," Fitzpatrick said carefully, like he was picking up on the delicateness of what was transpiring in that moment. "I did all of this for you. For us. I've been planning it for 20 fucking years, too.

After the Great Culling, everything was in crazy. You have no idea how easy it was to establish a fake identity and lay the ground work for all this. I just wish you could have been there to do it with me. Shit, I practically had Woolsey's office eating out of the palm of my hands by the time I was finished with them."

Fitzpatrick pushed the gun barrel into the flesh of Woolsey's cheek and chuckled.

"Hear that Richard? You know, if John here didn't need to kill you himself, I'd almost be tempted to let you live. Just for all the help you and Major Bradshaw gave me." Fitz drew the gun back away then patted at the red place on Woolsey's cheek as if in apology.

"I knew this one would never stop trying to find you, John," he went on, still looking down at Woolsey almost reverently. "None of them were ever going to stop trying to get their precious Atlantis Expedition back of the ground, no matter how many lives they destroyed in the process." Fitzpatrick dug his gun back into the side of Woolsey's face again and the man tried to tip sideways to get away from it. "I couldn't let it happen again, John. I couldn't let Carson Beckett infect one more person with that poison."

"So, what? You decided to poison them first?" The kid's flawed logic finally had John pulling his gaze away from Woolsey.

"Better dead than forced into that chair." Fitzpatrick answered darkly. "I only wish someone would have done that for me before..." Fitzpatrick actually choked on his words, pulling his hand away from Woolsey's face to cover his mouth with the back of it for a moment.

"...Before they made me kill all those people. Maybe then my Ma would still be alive, if someone had only put a stop to all this before it had even begun."

"Jesus, Sean, I'm sorry." John blurted suddenly – surprising himself - realizing just as he said it that he genuinely meant it. There were so many things about the past he wished he could change. So many people he'd let down; this poor, lost kid, included. John should have been there to protect him.

"I'm so sorry kid."

"It's Liam."

"What?"

"My real name," Fitzpatrick said softly. "It's Liam Maguire."

John was struck again then by the thought of how very close he had come to being exactly like the young man standing in front of him now.

Lost.

Utterly alone.

Completely misunderstood. Standing in a fire lit room and talking in circles that only made sense to him. Wishing that someone would have just taken the damn time to stop and find out what the hell was going on with him.

"Liam... what do you want from me?" John asked and finally looked up to stare at the kid full on. "How does all this end?"

The kid's face hardened slightly and he stiffened behind Woolsey.

"What I want, Sheppard," Liam said on an irritated sigh, bringing the gun up to rest against his temple, "is to know that you to understand why I have to do this and then I want you to help me do it."

 _"We're doing everything we can, John._ _Just keep trying to stall him!"_ John resisted the urge to raise his hand to his ear and tell the panicked scientist to hurry the fuck up. He was losing control, scared shitless of what Fitz... Maguire was going to offer next and terrified that he wouldn't be able to say no.

"...You want me to help you murder a mountain full of people, Liam?"

"No, John!" the kid yelled, pointing the gun in his direction again. "You can't look at it like that! What I want you to do is help me ensure that the Atlantis project never recovers ever again. I want you to end all of this with me, once and for all. Together. Just like that day in the skies 18 years ago with the Wraith."

"I don't think I can do that for you kid,..." He answered truthfully and was surprised when Liam actually smiled softly at him.

"That's okay John. I figured you were going to say that at first. That's why Richard is here with us today.

You're going to put a bullet through his skull, and once you do, you're going to understand _everything_. And then you and me are going to walk out of here and put this place and everything she represents, in our review mirrors, forever."

Liam Maguire rounded the panicked figure of Richard Woolsey and set the pistol he'd been using the whole time down onto the floorboards near his feet. With a quick kick of his boot he sent the gun tumbling across the wood in John's direction and it came to rest against the side of his show. He looked down at it, mesmerized for a moment by the firelight glistening off the metal, giving the piece the illusion of luminescence just for a second.

_"Just a few more minutes, John._ _We're close!"_

"There's only one round in there, John," Liam warned as he bent over to pick up the gun from the floor. "And don't forget who has the switch. You try and use that thing on me, I will let go of this." Maguire held the dead man's switch out for him to see as if to reiterate his point.

It was a nice gun. One John would have enjoyed using himself. It felt good in his hand, too; snug somehow. He wrapped trembling fingers around it, grip still warm from Maguire's own hand, and pointed it out in front of him to test its weight, wondering what the kick back would feel like reverberating up his arm.

"Once you do this John, you'll see," the kid spoke barely louder than a whisper. "The world reveals itself. Everything is going to make perfect sense then, I promise."

_"Hang in there John, we're doing everything we can._ _Stall him!"_

From behind, John could hear Carrie struggle against her bonds, cry out even, but John only had eyes for the man in front of him now and cut everything else out.

"It's what you've always wanted, John," Liam went on as he raised his arm to point the gun. "Admit it. You can't tell me this face hasn't haunted your dreams every night for the past 20 years. Think of how good you'll sleep now when he's gone."

The rest of the world fell away then and John found himself standing in a stark white room with nothing standing between him and the revenge he'd been searching for for the past 20 years. And revenge was tempting. It sat weak and vulnerable, tied to a chair and trembling with panic boiling behind its eyes.

It would be so easy to just squeeze.

One bullet and it would all be over. Just one and it would be enough to end this forever.

" _John_..." It was Rodney's voice that reached him then and in an instant, the heat and the fire of the moment came crashing back down on him... but he had his answer

_"John, the mountain is secure!"_

He chambered the round.

_"The canisters have all been disabled!"_

John let out a shuddering sigh...

_"We're coming!_ _We're coming for you, John!"_

and pulled the trigger.

..

\oO0Oo/

..

"Oh crap!" Rodney exclaimed without meaning to and Evan Lorne appeared at his side.

"What's up Rodney?"

"Fitzpatrick has Richard Woolsey. He's the fourth heat signature down there!" Rodney stammered, pointing at the second stationary glowing spot on the HUD.

"You've got to be kidding me!" Lorne exclaimed, putting a hand over his mouth and squinting at the colored blobs as if focusing in on them would help them take shape.

"Fitzpatrick just said his name!"

"If you asked John a question, do you think there would be any way he could answer?"

"No way! Not without alerting Fitzpatrick to the fact that were up here and communicating with him. You haven't been listening to this kid talk, Lorne. He's certifiable."

"Look, I've got my guys combing that mountain. Everyone's almost out. John just needs to stall Fitzpatrick for a little while longer."

"I'll tell him Lorne, but you guys gotta hurry. I don't know how much longer he's going to be able to stall this guy."

Lorne leveled a grim gaze in Rodney's direction and was already yelling again over the secure airwaves as he made his way back into the rear compartment once more.

"We're doing everything we can, John! Just keep trying to stall him!"

If Rodney had been half the genius he'd always claimed to be, he'd be sitting behind a desk right now getting fat and working out of some two-bit community college physics department. Not knee deep in yet another disaster. Instead of waiting around to find out if one of his friends was going to live or die today, he could be attacking term papers with red pens that never had enough ink to really get his point across... And he was a fool to think that any of this would end once the Atlantis Expedition got back up and running.

Rodney had been running from one disaster to another for his entire life and he was tired. He was tired of losing friends, of having nothing left of them left to burry when it was all over, of bureaucracy and bullshit... and he had half a mind to curl up into a ball once all of this was over and never move again.

Rodney had been excited at the prospect of Torren John coming here to share all of this with him, that he'd completely forgotten about all the dangers associated with Atlantis. He knew John as going to do everything in his power to make sure at least some of the red and orange blobs on Rodney's screen survived this and didn't slowly fade away, but Rodney also knew what sacrifices John Sheppard was capable of. And if John wasn't going to be around to help Rodney keep Torren John safe in Pegasus, then he wasn't going to come along. It was that simple. Rodney didn't care how much his son deserved to see where he was from, there was no Atlantis expedition without John Sheppard.

Rodney clutched the tablet in his hands tightly, clinging to it like some kind of lifeline; one final purchase on the ordered world he knew was out there waiting for him somewhere. It was a place where madmen _didn't_ sabotage entire expeditions or murder his friends one by one. It was a place where old men shut up in windowless rooms _didn't_ try and play gods and order the annihilation of billions of people. Where was that world? Because he missed it.

Well, it certainly wasn't down in that cottage where Rodney could sense John was quickly losing control of the situation.

"Just a few more minutes, John," he promised, even though he didn't know if it was true. "We're close!"

Rodney resisted the urge to break his tablet apart across the main console of the puddle jumper in his frustration, and turned to the kid sitting beside him instead.

"You get ready to set her down the moment we hear something okay?" The young solider looked back over at him with eyes as wide as saucers, but he nodded.

There was another reason Rodney had left them hovering in the mist above the cottage rather than landing. It Fitzpatrick, or Liam as he was now apparently called, had the ATA gene, Rodney didn't want to take the chance that he'd sense the approaching Jumper and get spooked. The chance that his gene was that sensitive was remote, but Rodney hadn't wanted to take any chances, and he just prayed that decision didn't turn out to be a mistake.

"Hang in there John, we're doing everything we can. Stall him!" Rodney tried not to yell into the earwig. Something was going on in the rear compartment and the noise was drowning out the conversation going on in the cottage below.

"They did it. Mountains clear. Let Sheppard know and take us down!" Lorne bellowed on a burst of relieved energy and relief flooded Rodney's own system. He nearly sagged under the enormity of it.

His body just wasn't cut out for this anymore.

"John," he nearly choked, "John, the mountain is secure! The canisters have been disabled! We're coming, we're coming for you!"

But the hollow sound of a gunshot reverberating in Rodney's ear drowned out everything that came next.

..

\oO0Oo/

..

Nothing happened at first.

They stood; John with gun still held out in front of him. The man formally known as Fitzpatrick just standing there with mouth agape.

There should have been blood. There should have been a wound. The gun had gone off, but there was nothing.

He kept looking from gun to man still standing unharmed before him, realization dawning on him like the summer sun over the mountains.

Blanks.

Shit.

"You... I mean, I had to plan for it, but I never thought... Not in a million years..." Maguire stammered and John tried again. But the chamber and magazine were empty. There was only the click of the hammer echoing uselessly out into the empty space between them like the betrayal it represented.

Woolsey was crying.

Liam's face morphed into something John had never seen on another man's face before. It was evil. The kid was snarling and John tensed as he watched him reach around behind to draw something out from his waistband. It was another gun and before John could even lunge forward, Liam pressed the barrel to the side of Woolsey's head and pulled the trigger.

Blood and brains splattered out against the wall. Some of the mess made it into the fire and globs of it sat sizzling on top of the logs and the cottage filled with the unmistakable smell of burning flesh that had John fighting against his gag reflex. It was what his own bullet was supposed to have done, but to Maguire, not Woolsey, when John had trained the gun he'd been given directly in the center of that man's head after Rodney's voice had filled his ear.

John sprang forward without even thinking, and dove headfirst into Maguire's middle just as his hand began to point in Carrie's direction.

It was like rushing a brick wall and the impact knocked the wind out of John, but it had the desired effect. Liam lost his footing and went down hard under the unexpected attack, but John had underestimated how easy it would be to throw the kid off his balance and followed him down onto the floor in a heap, the gun skittering away to places unknown.

They were a tangle of angry limbs for a moment, the larger man trying to grab John's more lithe frame anyway he could while still trying to hold on to the now defunct dead man's switch clutched in his hand. With the kid occupied in trying to keep the switch away from John, he was able to twist himself out of holds he normally wouldn't have been able to get out of. But Liam eventually got frustrated with the useless scrabbling and struck out at John with his fists just as he was able to get up to his knees.

Those fists were made of lead - he swore it was true - because knuckles impacted his cheekbone right below his left eye and John could hear the bone there crack.

The eye swelled shut almost instantly and he could feel the warm trickle of blood cascading over his face from some cut Maguire's knuckles had opened. In the brief moments of incapacitated shock and blindness that followed as his head was snapped viciously back, Liam took another swing with the switch strengthened hand, and imbedded that fist into the center of John's gut.

The force of the blow knocked the oxygen right out of his lungs and sent him skidding a few inches across the floor as he was thrown backwards.

John rolled quickly and coughed, tasting blood, and feeling the familiar twinge of either bruised or cracked ribs, he couldn't tell which. Based on how much power Liam had managed to get behind that fist, John's money was on broken, though he was too pissed at the moment to care.

The crazed kid was scrambling up to his feet, but John was smart enough to know that he was never going to survive this if Maguire was allowed to find sure footing. He lunged forward yet again, catching Liam with his palms square in the back. John pushed hard too, throwing all the weight he could into his forward motion and the kid fell forward, face first, into the floorboards. The satisfying crunch of bone reached John's ears and he nearly smiled. He sprang up from the floor on the rattle of a damaged lung and moved forward to try and keep Liam down any way he could, but he'd missed something. Maguire had gotten a beefy paw around the gun that John had lost sight of in the fight and when the former Seal flipped over onto his back quick as lighting, the bullet impacted John's shoulder before he could even register the report of the pistol.

At first there was no pain, though his body crumpled like there was.

From somewhere over to his left, Carrie gave a strangled scream.

Stunned for a moment and unable to pull himself up from off of the floor, John watched helplessly as Liam Maguire got his feet underneath his bulky frame and stood up, swaying slightly but recovering quickly.

The former Seal's face was a mess when he turned. Just as John had suspected, his nose was broken again and the kid was missing several of his front teeth. As Maguire came to loom over him, blood dripped down from his mutilated mouth in stringy red bands.

John dragged himself sideways a few feet, leaving a trail of blood in his wake, and used his good arm to pull himself up using the wall. He managed to get upright by the time Liam reached him. He even started to try and get back up to his own feet, but the kid lifted a leg and brought a heavy boot down directly over John's knee.

The knee that had never fully healed.

The knee that had been bothering him for days but that had, finally, decided to give him some peace today.

And this time, John really did feel the pain.

He screamed out against it, banging his head back against the unforgiving wood of the wall behind him in his agony as blackness invaded the corners of his vision.

"Stay down!" Liam ordered and swiped the back of a hand across his blood covered chin.

"God damn it John! I fucking saved you! I pulled you out of that damn hospital before the IOA could try and kill you again and this is the thanks I get? You try and murder me?"

"You ruined my life you psychopath!" John raged back at Liam, just as frenzied but half hoping his words would keep the kid from turning on Carrie next, his last bit of leverage. "If you would have just left me there and come talk to me like a normal human being, none of this would have ever happened!"

But Maguire just kept going like he hadn't even heard John speak. "I bring you the woman you love, practically fucking gift wrap the man you've wanted to kill for the past 20 years for you, and this is how it ends for us!" The kid paced up and down the space in front of John's outstretched legs. When he looked over in Carrie's direction again, John just started talking.

"Jesus christ kid, you really are fucking insane!" John ground out around the pain. Any moment Rodney and Lorne were going to burst through that door and end this once and for all. They would get to him before the alarmingly large blood pool soaking his left flank and arm got any bigger.

"I was never going to get on board with this, Liam. Not in a million years! And the fact that you even thought that I would be capable of shooting someone in the head just goes to show how you have no idea who the fuck I really am." John spat a mouthful of blood out onto the floor beside his throbbing knee and pulled as much air as he could into his rapidly weakening lungs.

"I'm sorry that you had to live through what you did, kid. I really am. But killing a mountain full of innocent people isn't going to change what happened to us!"

Liam stopped mid pace and came to crouch down in front of John.

"Maybe not, but it sure as hell will keep it from happening again, wont it?" He sneered and John tried not to flinch when the barrel of the gun was pressed against his sternum. He should have made a move for it - he knew the maneuver by rote - but his arms were nothing more than heavy dead weights at his sides now.

"No, buddy," John sighed, resting his head against the wall behind him when it threatened collapse. "It won't change a thing. There are always going to be men like those IOA members in the world. Even the Wraith culling half our population can't stop that.

What's going to save our planet is men like us protecting her. So come on kid. Put the gun away. Help me get out of here, and then _that's_ what we can do together, Liam. What we should have been able to do together all those years ago." John pulled in more air on a wheeze.

"No more people die. Not on our watch. Help me _save_ them this time, kid."

Maguire paused, like he might actually be listening, and the gun he had pointed at John retreated.

"Help me save them," he said again and for one brief moment, John saw something lucid pass across Liam's blood smeared face. It took root right behind his irises... and just as a perfectly formed red sniper dot skittered across the side of his shirt before settling on to a sweat dampened temple.

"LORNE WAIT!" John bellowed on the last full breath he had left, but Liam Maguire had seen the red, even through all the blood.

He looked back over at John then and his eyes lost whatever light had been there before. And in that moment, John Sheppard knew he had lost him forever.

Another casualty of the Pegasus Galaxy.

Another name written on the stars in blood.

" _Rodney._.." John whispered...

Liam threw himself back bodily like something out of a bad action movie, arms and legs extended out in front of his body as he hurtled back a few feet. A bullet whizzed past his head, missing the kid's skull by mere inches, just as he brought his own gun back up to fire it point blank at the center of John's chest. There was a sort of amused half smile playing at one corner of his mouth and it stayed there, even when the next bullet found its target perfectly. He collapsed to the floor, gaze never breaking away from John's, even as life fled his eyes.

John was pushed back bodily against the wall again on some kind of concussive force he didn't quite understand. The cottage around him erupted into a turbulent wind tunnel of frenetic noise and worried footfalls and, of course, pain. It assaulted him from every angle, pressing salt into his wounds until he couldn't catch his breath around it. But even through all that, John's one good eye could only seem to focus on one thing: Liam Maguire, who was lying on his side, mouth still upturned in that amused half smile.

He was dead, John realized suddenly, as if it had taken his brain a moment or two to come to that rather obvious conclusion. Sean Fitzpatrick... or Liam Maguire... or whoever history decided to remember him as, was dead and John hadn't been the one to do it...

"John? John can you hear me?" A worried voice called out to him from the din and John tried to focus in on the face that broke his sightline with Liam.

"R'dney?"

"Oh thank god!" Rodney fell to his knees beside John and pressed mist dampened fingertips to the side of his neck. "I'm here, John. The medics are on their way." The scientist promised, worrying over things John couldn't talk his eyes into looking down at.

"Just… hold on, okay?"

"Ev'ry one alright?"

"Yeah, John, everyone's fine. You bought us more than enough time to clear the mountain. You're a hero, Sheppard. Again!" Rodney was trying to be upbeat and John found out why a moment later. Something heavy was pressed against the holes in his chest and it didn't go away even when he tried to move out from under it.

John tried not to make any sound, he really did, but he just didn't have the energy to hold it back any longer. And this time when he screamed, there was blood.

Fading fast and mustering what little strength he had left, John made a leaden arm rise and he grabbed for one of Rodney's hands. The scientist looked up from his work with anger and an unwillingness to accept the moment they had come to, filling his eyes.

"No, John…"

"R'member... what I said." Blood made everything slippery. His hand slid away and nothing he tried would make it lift again.

"R'dney…" He murmured one last time, but not even what Rodney said next was enough to make John stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll update again soon. Sorry for all the cliffhangers.


	21. A Matter of Perspective

The American Military loved its rules. There was procedure and proper protocol in place for just about everything and not even lead scientists of major top secret programs were allowed to deviate from those rules. That was how Rodney McKay came to be slumped in an abandoned chair in a hallway just off the medical wing, covered in John Sheppard's blood with head resting in his hands.

He'd yelled, he'd fought, but in the end, they hadn't let him in.

'Procedure', they'd said. And Rodney McKay hated it.

If this were any other type of medical emergency, he would have long ago retreated to his lab. Rodney had always been the type of man to throw himself into work. Not sit idly by through desperate hours of waiting, twiddling his thumbs and drinking cup after cup of bad infirmary coffee in sterile waiting rooms. It wasn't that he didn't care - he always cared - but it always seemed to be better for everyone involved if he just stayed away. It was in those times where he sat feeling helpless, that he truly became an asshole. When there was nothing to do with his intellect, that was when the old Rodney McKay came out to make life miserable for everyone around him.

But there was nothing normal about this particular medical emergency and while Rodney had toyed with the idea of heading back to his lab briefly, the gravity of John Sheppard was strong and it had pulled him into a constant orbit that he had been unable (no, unwilling really) to escape from.

The chair Rodney was occupying was tucked up against a wall in a hallway he'd never been in before and located just outside the SGC surgical suites. For hours he'd been waiting there for news of his friend, and for hours the door a few yards down from the little row of chairs he'd made his new home, had remained resolutely closed. He'd been trying to take it as a sign that John Sheppard still lived, that they hadn't, in fact, pulled one of those sterile white sheets up over his head and declared him dead. Rodney didn't think he could handle seeing John that way. The man had, and would always be, the epitome of strength and vitality in Rodney's eyes and seeing him otherwise just wouldn't compute. It would crash his systems, and Rodney was only barely holding it together as it was.

John had been wheeled away… Rodney looked down at his watch, remembering suddenly that it hadn't worked for days and resisted the urge to get up out of his chair and put a fist through the opposite wall. But that was more John's style and something he would have done, Rodney figured, if their roles had somehow been reversed. He decided, instead, just to sit in his chair and rage at the universe for what had been done.

Regardless of the time, John had been wheeled away too many hours ago and those hours had passed by for Rodney in a fuzzy haze of nondescript people bending over him and asking if he wanted anything. The answer had always been 'no', of course. They couldn't possibly give him what he wanted, but more than once he'd pulled the cell phone from out of his pocket and contemplated the numbers he brought up onto the screen. They were the only two people in the world he really wanted with him in that moment, only he didn't know how to ask for their help considering that he'd been absent from both their lives for so long.

But even though Rodney was alone right now, during the last hour or so of his vigil there had been a few visitors, and not all of them had been unwanted. Zelenka had stopped by to let him know that Carson was doing well and showing signs of coming out of the coma. There had been more to it than that, but Rodney had been too busy fuming over an argument he'd just had with the Marine guarding the entrance to the operating rooms to register much else than Radek's fervent promise to watch over Carson while they were all dealing with what had happened to John. Lorne had come in with them but he had needed to disappear soon after to go and deal with the aftermath of Sean Fitzpatrick's, or Liam Maguire's (or whatever they decided to call him - Liam, Rodney figured) attack on the mountain. There were going to be a lot of questions in the coming days about how that kid had managed to infiltrate the uppermost ranks of a top secret military operation and Rodney figured his time would soon be in high demand in that regard.

And yet, with just the little bit of information he'd been able to garner in his hurried searches in the Puddle Jumper, Rodney figured the investigation wouldn't be allowed to get very far. As soon as he started exposing how any information pertaining to Liam Maguire had been conveniently wiped from all public record, or about how everyone's eagerness (Rodney's included) to get the expedition up and running again had led to corners being cut, he knew things would be shut down and covered up fairly quickly. It was just another one of those little nuances of working with the American Military that he'd come to expect. Someone would take the fall eventually, and Rodney just hopped it wouldn't be someone he knew.

Rodney sat back in his chair and ran tired hands through what was left of his thinning hair. His shirt sleeves were coarse and stiff and he stared down at the blood soaked fabric for a moment, lost in the memories of their frenzied flight back over to Cheyenne Mountain.

When John had lost consciousness in the cottage, Rodney had thought that was it. That they had finally lost John Sheppard for good this time. Lorne had been too busy trying to disarm the C4 that Fitz... Maguire had rigged to the underside of Carrie Sinclair's chair so he hadn't been there to see. John had been shot twice. Once in the shoulder and once terrifyingly close to where Rodney had been reasonably certain his heart was supposed to be. He was no physician, but even Rodney knew there was no coming back from a bullet to the heart, if Liam Maguire's aim had been true.

And what a place to aim for. If Rodney had sat John down and asked him where he thought his inherent strength came from, the man would probably say his Air Force pilot training. But ask anyone else involved with Atlantis – hell, anyone who had ever known John Sheppard at all for that matter - and they all would invariably say the same thing.

That it came from his heart.

The scientist part of Rodney's brain identified the heart as nothing more than a muscle located in the chest that pumped blood throughout the body, but he knew that wasn't the case with John. For Sheppard, his heart was what defined him. What gave him that irritatingly honorable need to take in strays and find them good homes within his own ranks. That attribute had always been endearing, but unfortunately for John, this time around, it had come back to bite him in the ass, and it just didn't seem fair. Those seven maddening minutes it took for the medical team to arrive in the cottage certainly weren't fair and the hands in Rodney's lap began to tremble as he let his thoughts wander back to that place once again.

Someone in their group had been a trained paramedic. Rodney had watched the stranger perform CPR on John while he had knelt on uneven floorboards that dug into his knees as he clamped hands down hard over the geysers of John's blood trying to well up from his chest. His friend's face had gone grey with blood loss and it was an image that had seared itself into the backs of Rodney's eyelids so that every time he closed his eyes, it was there to torment him again. Helplessness was not something Rodney handled well, and the scene that had unfolded mere hours ago had tested the very limits of his endurance.

John being pulled away from the wall by his boots so they could get at him better.

The pool of blood that had gathered beneath his body as Rodney tried to keep in what the chest compressions were pushing out.

Rodney had kept waiting for that moment when John would miraculously start breathing on his own again like they always did in the movies. It was that sputtering intake of breath that was important, because it always heralded the victim's sudden return to consciousness; a doctor's muttered assurance that he was out of danger coming only a moment later... But it hadn't happened that way and Rodney McKay had spent the next seven tormenting minutes waiting for help to arrive, wondering the entire time if the words he had just exchanged with John were going to be their last... If the hands he'd clapped over the holes were going to be enough to save him.

When help finally had arrived, it wasn't with the grand entrance Rodney had been hoping for. The medical team looked just as worried and anxious as he felt and he'd never seen more activity centered on one man before in his life. John was the focal point in a raging sea of churning color and disorder and Rodney had fixed his gaze on the epicenter of that storm and had never let it go. Not even in the jumper when Lorne had tried to hold him back from following the medical team in. Not during the frantic wheeled trip down unfamiliar halls and towards the SGC surgical wing. Rodney would have kept it up all the way to the very operating room if an arm hadn't reached out to halt his forward motion and stop him dead in his tracks. It had been a Marine, and a big one at that, and Rodney had reached the end of the line, even though he'd fought like hell to be allowed past it. But even he had given up in the end, because there were just some places in the world where even he would never be allowed to go, no matter who he was or what position he held within the SGC.

Still… he didn't have to like it.

And so he sat. Banished to the outer hallways of the surgical wing and left alone to wait anxiously for news on if John Sheppard had lived or died. Patience had never been one of Rodney's strong suites, ask anyone, so the waiting was driving him mad. Desperate for anything that might take his mind off the fact that John might be just beyond that damn door dying, Rodney pulled his phone out of his pocket and sighed at himself for not having thought to check it for the time. The screen glowed to life in his palm and just as he sat staring at it, trying to decide if 3 am was really an appropriate time to call Diane in New York, a door banged open from somewhere down the hall.

Rodney was up and out of his seat in an instant, but as soon as he realized it wasn't the door he'd been waiting for, he collapsed back down. The robbed figure slowly approaching with bandaged wrists was talking quietly with the guard who had opened the door for her and Rodney worried for a moment that he wouldn't know what to say to her. They'd shared so much and yet had never met, but when Carrie Sinclair sat down in the seat beside him and grabbed one of his hands to wrap it in hers, Rodney had a feeling there was nothing to worry about.

"Has there been any news?" She asked with worry filled eyes and Rodney shook his head almost angrily.

"No. I haven't moved from this spot for hours and no one's come out of that room since I got here." He inclined his head towards the door John had disappeared into hours ago and Carrie glanced over at it. Her pale blue gaze lingered there for a moment as if she was willing the door to open on sheer force of will alone. It didn't work.

Rodney could see immediately what John saw in Carrie Sinclair. Her wide eyes hinted at an intelligence that her youthful face and pale blond hair tried to mask. Those eyes were bright and alert, too, even at this late hour – and she seemed to see everything around her all at once. So much so that Rodney had the sneaking suspicion that, even if John had never revealed anything about his past to this woman, she would have guessed most of it anyway.

Carrie had lovely wavy hair that she had tied back away from her face in a messy ponytail, and she was _pretty_ , even wrapped up in an ugly patterned infirmary robe with white bandaged wrists. A souvenir, Rodney figured, of the ropes Liam Maguire had used to tie her to that chair.

"How are you holding up?" He asked his new friend as he tried to take his hand back, but Carrie held it steadfast.

"I'm okay," she replied, not taking her eyes off the door. "Besides some abrasions on my wrists and ankles, they say there isn't much wrong with me."

Carrie let go of his hand then and shifted under her robe so that the ends of the sleeves slipped down to cover her bandaged and tapped wrists.

"Did anyone stop by and talk to you while you were in the infirmary? Did they try to explain any of this to you?" Rodney asked, gesturing around the corridor and Carrie glanced down the hall in the direction of the door she'd just come through. The guard was back at his post - the same Marine Rodney had chased away hours ago with the daggers he'd shot at the kid from his eyes for not letting him in to see John. The guard had decided to set up his checkpoint in an outer hall instead, after it had become apparent that Rodney was no longer a threat.

"No one will tell me anything," Carrie said a little stiffly, but her mouth pulled up into a kind smile, which she cast over in Rodney's direction, "but I did finally convince them to let me come and sit with you." The smile was sad and something stirred in Rodney then. Some kind of urge to make the smile happy again.

Yeah, he definitely got why John had picked her.

"Well, apparently we have plenty of time to wait. Why don't you take me through what you remember happening and I can fill in any blanks. Some of its top secret... well, most of it is really, but I'll tell you what I can." Carrie looked skeptical for a moment, but let out a weary sigh and started in on her version of events.

Rodney had heard most of what she told him through the earpiece connection he'd shared with John, but somehow, hearing it all again first hand, made it hurt all the worse. He'd missed some things too; Important things. Like how very close John had come to shooting Richard Woolsey in the head. He hadn't gone through with it in the end, but Rodney was no fool. He knew John Sheppard was still only human, no matter how many people at the SGC tried to think otherwise, and he could only imagine how enticing that pull of revenge must have been. But John had resisted and now the world would never really know if Richard Woolsey had been telling the truth when he'd said he had no knowledge of what he had forced John to do. Still, Rodney couldn't help but feel some satisfaction at the thought that he was gone now. If Woolsey would have tried to get close to John again, Rodney had worried about what it would do to them all. Now it was as if they could finally close the book on that chapter of their lives.

Rodney's only lasting concern, should John pull through surgery and survive all this this, was that irreparable damage had been done to his soul. He'd put his trust in men like Richard Woolsey and Sea… Liam Maguire, and each and every time, he'd been betrayed on an unimaginable level. There were only so many times a man, even one as strong as John Sheppard, could be betrayed like that before he just wasn't able to bounce back from it anymore. He was going to be leery of everyone now and Rodney worried about how they were going to get him to open up and talk about what had happened. Liam Maguire posing as a psychiatrist wasn't going to make that easy. John had divulged things about himself to that kid that would thankfully be taken to the grave, but that didn't lessen the weight of the betrayal, or negate its catastrophic damages. No, the harm had already been done, and it would be up to Rodney to try and find some way to make it alright again.

Rodney realized his thoughts had wandered and he focused back in on what Carrie was saying. It didn't take him long to realize his assessment of the woman had been correct. Carrie Sinclair was smart and had most everything figured out already, though Rodney could neither confirm nor deny most of her suspicions. So when she was finally finished and he hadn't been able to help with much, Rodney could tell she was frustrated with him, though she tried hard not to let it show.

"Look Ms. Sinclair..."

"Oh please! You can stop right there, Dr. McKay," she smiled. "It's Carrie. Ms. Sinclair is my busybody 90 year old auntie who lives back in Blue River."

Rodney smiled at that. "Well, then the same goes for me. Call me Rodney."

"You know, he spoke about you a lot. John, I mean," she said with that soft sad smile again and Rodney had to look away.

"Oh yeah?"

"He never mentioned any of you by name, but when he would talk about the times before The Great Culling, there were always a few people he mentioned often. You know, I've spent, what… 5 minutes with you, and I already know which one you are." She laughed a little at that, though she pulled the robe in closer to her frame with a barely perceptible tremor.

"Uh-oh. Do I want to know?" Rodney asked, trying desperately to keep things light and it seemed to work.

"Maybe not _all_ of it," she smiled, "but you should know he always talked about you as if you were his best friend or something. He never exactly was what you'd call an open book, but if John cared for you, you knew it."

She was looking away as she said it, but once she'd finished and began to turn back around towards him, Rodney let his eyes fall to the hands he had clasped in his lap. He was on the verge of something, some kind of edge, and he knew if he looked into her face and saw a hint of the years she had gotten to share with John while Rodney had thought him long dead, he was going to snap. It wouldn't be her fault and she sure as hell wouldn't deserve it, but his heart would take over his mouth, and that never turned out well for anyone. Carrie Sinclair had gotten to spend _years_ with John that he should have spent on Atlantis with Rodney and the rest of the expedition. The woman sitting beside him, while extremely beautiful, didn't have a clue as to what was out there in the universe. What wonders and danger it held for anyone with the guts to go looking. Rodney doubted Carrie Sinclair had ever seen anything beyond the small towns surrounding Blue River Wisconsin. She knew nothing of other worlds and hostile alien races and while he could tell that she was smart, she was ignorant at the same time, and Rodney was trying very hard not to fault her for it.

"He's going to be okay," He blurted out suddenly. For whose benefit, he wasn't really sure, but Carrie looked away then and he let his frame relax a little. He could tell neither of them believed in what he had just said particularly, but it was out there between them now and Rodney took some comfort from it. He wasn't alone. He might be jealous of the woman sitting next to him, but at least she'd had the character to get herself out of the infirmary and find her way here to this hallway to sit with him.

Anxious for a distraction, Rodney started to ask Carrie more about what John had mentioned about him over the years, but the door at the end of the hall opening again pulled his attention away. He thought about ignoring it altogether, knowing now that it wasn't the door he was waiting for, and most likely just another unwanted yet well-meaning visitor trying to find out information about John's condition. Carrie was all the company he was interested in at the moment, but when he let his eyes glance over to the two men standing there talking to the guard at the checkpoint, Rodney stopped dead.

Carrie, noticing his sudden stillness, craned her neck around to look over at the two men about to make their way into the corridor.

"You know them?" She asked, looking back around to crease her brow at him quizzically. When he didn't respond, she put a concerned hand on his shoulder.

"Rodney, is everything alright?"

"No," he practically laughed. "Things are definitely not alright… but it's looking more and more like they might be."

Rising from his seat, Rodney didn't try to stop the wide smile that broke out across his face immediately. Nor did he care that he took the last few yards of the corridor at practically a run. He only had eyes for one of the two men walking down the hallway towards him, and when he finally reached them, Rodney pulled the younger of the two into an immediate and almost desperate embrace, breathing in the New York smells the kid had brought along with him. TJ seemed taller somehow, though Rodney knew that was impossible, just like he knew he really shouldn't be hugging his son right in front of Hank Landry like he was. He'd made a promise to himself not to reveal his relationship with TJ to anyone at first, but seeing the kid again, especially after all that had happened, had Rodney throwing all his carefully laid plans out the window in an instant. TJ was like a port in the storm and Rodney clung to that calm eye for as long as he could, Torren letting him do so for as long as he needed.

When Rodney pulled away, he held his son at arm's length to inspect him and there wasn't a dry eye in the place.

"How...?" he stammered, trying to ignore the moisture gathering in his own eyes.

"General Landry," Torren smiled, nodding over in the General's direction.

"As soon as I was debriefed on what happened, I grabbed your son and headed back to the SGC. I'm only sorry we couldn't get here sooner," Landry replied, smiling widely like he had been in on the big secret all along. Rodney knew well enough not to push the issue.

"How long can you stay?" He asked TJ instead and the young man looked over to Landry for the answer he apparently didn't have.

"As far as I'm concerned, his transfer is approved," Landry said proudly, like he was pleased with himself for having orchestrated such an unexpected family reunion. "So I guess the answer to your question is: permanently."

Exhaustion, worry, and the constant ebb and flow of adrenalin in Rodney's system over the past several days filled his eyes to near bursting then and he tried to inconspicuously wipe at them with the back of a hand.

"Oh! There's someone you both need to meet." Rodney exclaimed, grabbing Torren by the arm and leading him down the hall and back towards the bank of chairs.

"General Hank Landry, TJ, this is Carrie Sinclair. John's girlfriend from Blue River."

Both men nodded a "Ma'am".

"Carrie, this is TJ, my son, and General Hank Landry. He's the Commanding Officer here."

The group exchanged their pleasantries and Rodney watched it all from the periphery, never taking his eyes off Torren for a second. The kid really did seem taller; maybe _regal_ was the word Rodney was looking for. He was still a little lanky, though ROTC training had managed to bulk him up a bit. He looked good, dressed to the nines in his best dress uniform and Rodney couldn't help but smile over at him as he sweet talked Carrie and had everyone laughing in spite of the dire situation in which they all found themselves.

Torren John had always been tall, he had his parents to thank for that, and Rodney could see a little bit of them both in the young man standing beside him. TJ had Teyla's hair and his father's coloring, and the only thing Rodney figured he could lay claim to was that intelligent spark behind the kid's eyes. The one that let everyone he met know that he was the smartest one in the room. That one Rodney couldn't decide was a good thing or not, settling finally on the conclusion that he wouldn't apologize for pushing his son to be the best that he could be.

"Well, Ms. Sinclair…" Landry was saying when Rodney started paying attention to the conversation again, but Carrie put a hand up to stop him mid-sentence.

"It's Carrie; please."

Landry smiled wide. "Well then, Carrie, why don't you come with me for a while, and we'll give these two a chance to catch up. What do you say?"

Carrie appeared amenable enough to the offer, but she looked over at Rodney questioningly. He already knew what she was worried about.

"If we hear anything, anything at all," he promised, "even if it's just someone coming out to tell me they ran out of gauze, I'll come and find you. Okay?"

She eyed him skeptically for a moment like she didn't quite believe it would actually happen, but Carrie allowed herself to be lead away by Landry a moment later. When the door finally closed behind their retreating figures, Rodney practically fell back into his seat and Torren took the one beside him.

"I can't believe you're here, TJ."

The events of the past few days were making him mushy, but Rodney figured a little mush was the least of his worries at the moment. His clothes were covered in someone else's blood, for one thing. So much so, he was surprised someone hadn't said something to him about it. Especially when Rodney had pulled TJ into such a desperate hug when he'd finally gotten his hands on him.

TJ being there was like the unsought for answer to some unspoken prayer and Rodney reached a hand out to grab hold of one of Torren's and squeezed. There's had never been what anyone would have called an overly affectionate home, but Rodney still knew how to show his adoptive son just how much he loved him and had always made it a point to take every opportunity he could to let that kid know just how very much he was wanted. Though TJ had no idea he'd been left behind by the one person in all the universe who was never supposed to abandon him by choice, Rodney couldn't help but feel like he had been paying for the fact that Kanaan had left, for the past 18 years.

Worried he'd lose it again, Rodney took his hand back and swiped at the dust he hadn't noticed before, covering his knees. It was from when he had knelt on the floorboards of that cottage beside John and when he moved his arms to clear them off, the fabric encircling his wrists crackled. Actually crackled. Rodney was a mess, but somehow having Torren John in the seat beside him made none of it matter anymore.

"Well, we owe it all to General Landry for getting me here," Torren said in response to Rodney's happiness at his arrival. "You should have seen him, Pops. He stormed into my COs office and demanded he release me early and then we jumped on his jet and came here. I gotta tell ya, this place definitely has its perks."

"Wait until you see Atlantis," Rodney smiled over at his son. "Then talk to me about perks."

He ran his hands over thighs crusted with dried blood. Little flakes of red puffed out from under his hands and floated to the floor beside his boots. He ignored them.

"How's General Sheppard?" Torren asked as if reading his mind and Rodney shrugged.

"No idea, They haven't been out to tell me anything."

"Have you eaten, Dad?"

"Now you sound like your mother." Rodney snorted, rolling his eyes. "And no, I haven't. But before you ask, I'm not hungry."

"Come on, Pops, you're not going to be any good to anyone if you're dead on your feet. How about a shower and a change and then you can show me what kind of Mess Hall this place has?"

"I don't want to leave," Rodney argued resolutely. The thought of abandoning John had anxiety filling the back of his throat with something bitter. "What if they come out to give us an update and I'm not here? And watch who you call me 'Pops' around, TJ. No one here knows you're my son quite yet." Pops had been something his son had started calling him around the age of 14 and Rodney had been having a love/hate relationship with the moniker ever since.

"Don't worry _Dr. McKay_ ," Torren responded sarcastically with a good-natured smirk. "I won't blow your cover. But seriously Pops, you need to at least change. You're a mess."

Rodney looked down at his shirtfront, really paying attention this time to just how much of a mess he really was. The blood had dried down to ruddy brown, too, and there was hardly any hint of the white shirt he had put on that morning.

So much. Too much, really.

"I don't think I can do it, kid." Rodney said with a sad shake to his head.

"Do what, Dad?"

"Leave without at least knowing if he's alive or dead."

Torren turned to regard him seriously, eyes running down Rodney's blood stained shirt front, absently twirling his hat in his hands. "What happened, Pops?"

"Crazy happened, Son. And he shot my friend in the chest today… Twice."

This time it was Torren who reached out to take a hand.

..

\oO0Oo/

..

It was dim in the recovery room. The lights had been turned down low to try and give the exhausted group of people huddled in it some sense of peace, but he knew none.

Even Lorne stood in the doorway with arms folded across his chest and a shoulder propped up against the doorframe watching them all from a distance. For his entire life he'd been on the outer edge of most things, and this moment was no different. He wanted to go in – knew that he would even be welcomed - but no matter what Lorne tired, his feet stayed rooted in place. It was lighter out in the hall and his body cast an elongated shadow in the brick of yellow light near his feet, but no one had looked up when he'd darkened the doorway maybe 15 minutes ago. They were all too busy sitting quietly in their respective chairs watching John Sheppard die.

The gazes that settled over the bruised and battered body of the Brigadier General were mixed. Rodney was sitting next to a young man Lorne had never seen before and the scientist's eyes were red rimmed as if he'd been crying. Rodney was looking Sheppard over with a mixture of bitterness, exhaustion and complete helplessness. They were all warring for dominance over his face at once, and more often than not the young man sitting unobtrusively beside him cast concerned glances in his direction as if worried he might break. They were all in danger of that and Lorne made a mental note to ask about the unknown kid next time he saw Landry. The unidentified stranger's presence was making him tense, though by the look of things, Rodney knew the kid well. Maybe it was the overwhelming feeling of needing to protect the man lying comatose in the bed before him that did it, but Lorne was feeling very leery of strangers at the moment.

Taking up another chair on the other side of John's bed was Carrie Sinclair. Wrists freshly bandaged and clinging to one of Sheppard's hands like it was a lifeline, she spent most of her time watching the mechanical rise and fall of John's chest as if in some kind of trance. She was wrapped in one of those ugly infirmary robes that Lorne had luckily never had the displeasure of wearing, but she didn't seem to care about much else other than making sure the ventilator helping John to breathe, kept up its job.

Lorne shifted quietly in the doorway, trying not to disturb the reserved group, wondering all the while if he should just go in and give them the news he'd come to share. Carson Beckett was awake, only Lorne couldn't talk himself into going into that room and shattering the delicate truce everyone seemed to have made with what had happened.

Ever since coming to Atlantis all those years ago, Lorne had always been relegated to the outer edge of things. He hadn't minded it. There was always a need for a 2nd string quarterback, and his talents had never gone to waist. It was just that Evan Lorne had never officially fit in with John's team. They'd called him in to help on more than one occasion, and he'd always been willing to do whatever was needed, but he'd still always been circling the edge of greater men. If felt like that all over again, standing there in the doorway, feeling like he didn't have a place in that room amongst the mourners, but still having a job to do none the else. He'd come a long way since Atlantis. He was a Colonel now. John Sheppard's 2IC, if he was able to pull through all this and return to the expedition. Yet that disconnected feeling still remained and he didn't know whether it was just his imagination, or if things would slip back into the old ways if Sheppard lived. Even if that was the case, Lorne was still rooting for the Brigadier General to pull yet another miracle out of the bag.

From what Lorne had been able to pull out of a shell-shocked Rodney McKay a few hours ago, the bullet Sean... Liam Maguire had put in Sheppard's chest had missed his heart by inches, though it did manage to do considerable damage on its way out of his body. He was clinging to life now. So much so they hadn't even bothered to take him to the infirmary, but had instead set him up in one of the private rooms where they could keep a constant eye on him. Lorne cast his eyes up and over to the tinted glass of the elevated room where he knew a doctor sat, keeping vigil over the various monitors and machines currently trying to keep John Sheppard alive. Dr. Beckett was already demanding to be allowed to come over here, and Lorne didn't know how he was supposed to talk the doc into staying in bed.

Everyone was worried. The whole mountain was subdued really and Lorne had seen the evidence of that on every face he'd passed on his way down here. News of what had happened in that dilapidated cottage near the edge of the base had already spread far and wide and Lorne had given specific instructions to his Marines guarding the wing that no one but Landry and the people already here in this room were allowed to visit John, at least until his condition stabilized a little. Even though the threat that had been hanging over all their heads for months was gone now, the uneasiness it had brought along with it was a hard thing to shake. Lorne still saw danger around every corner and it was going to take him a while to let go of the apprehension that draped around him like some kind of invisible cloak; always felt, but never seen.

While Lorne had had no hand in the actual hiring of the man who had called himself Sean Fitzpatrick, the fact still remained that his task force hadn't found anything out of the ordinary during their extensive background check on Fitzpatrick. And that fact alone had Even Lorne shouldering the blame for all of it.

Lorne knew Fitzpatrick had been smart. He knew if he walked into John's room right this second and apologized for what he had allowed to happen, people would be out of their seats telling him what an idiot he was being, but Lorne couldn't help it. He'd been given one task: Protect Atlantis and keep safe all the people who would call her home for the coming years. Yet at his first trial by fire, he had failed. More than that, really. He had allowed her leader, the one person they needed the most to pull all this off, to be drawn into a madman's sick endgame, and it never should have happened. John Sheppard shouldn't be lying a few feet away from him, hooked up to machines Lorne couldn't even name, fighting for his life, and losing. Lorne was going to carry this failure with him the rest of his life, and it didn't matter if John Sheppard lived or died today. It wouldn't be the first dark think to live inside of him, that was for damn sure. Lorne had never come out and admitted it to anyone in particular, but he also shouldered the blame for something else that had happened over 18 years ago.

What if? It was a phrase that had often run through his brain when he allowed himself to think back on those chaotic first days after the Wraith had been destroyed and everyone was starting to figure out exactly what had happened. Lorne's first priority had been to get everyone to safety, and he was fine with his decision to stick around on Atlantis to make sure that everyone got out. What he couldn't forgive himself for, even after all these years, was the fact that John had disappeared from that hospital under Lorne's watch. Yes, he'd sent men to guard Sheppard, but he couldn't help but wonder, had he been the one to hop that last Jumper and stay by John's side through it all, would any of this have ever happened? Would he have been able to stop Sean Fitzpatrick from getting John out of there and setting off a chain reaction of events that would destroy entire lives.

The two sins, though decades apart, were so similar, it was no wonder he was having a hard time dealing with the fact that both of them were taking up space inside of him now.

Lorne heaved a heavy sigh and turned away from the quiet scene before him to start back off down the hall. He'd try and give his news again in a few hours maybe, but just as he turned to leave, he noticed a figure standing in the hallway watching him carefully. Lorne stiffened a little, wondering if this was the part where General Landry told him his services would no longer be needed, seeing as how the moment Lorne had been left in charge, all hell had broken loose.

He tried not to let his head fall as he marched over to where Landry stood. The corridors down here didn't have those strange colored stripes painted into the tile and he had half a mind to ask, once and for all, just what purpose those lines had served. He didn't though, and tried to keep his head up as he walked.

"General Landry," Lorne intoned, trying not to let his eyes give away too much of what was going on inside of him in that moment.

"Colonel Lorne," Landry nodded in greeting. "Have you told them?"

"That Dr. Beckett is awake?" Landry nodded again. "No, Sir. It didn't seem like the right time. Brigadier General Sheppard is still in pretty rough shape."

"So I've heard," Landry replied with a bit of a sigh, running a hand over day old stubble on the side of his face. "In fact, they tell me it's not good."

"No, Sir," Lorne said, casting his eyes back in the direction he'd just come, wishing now he'd just gone in like he'd wanted to in case that was the last time he ever saw John Sheppard alive. "It isn't."

"Lorne, you and I have been working together for quite a while now, haven't we?"

Lorne almost didn't want to look Landry in the eyes again, but he forced his tired gaze back over in the General's direction. If it was time to pay the piper then he would do so bravely. Not averting his eyes like some coward. Lorne's only hope was that he would be allowed to stay on base, at least until they knew if John Sheppard would make it or not.

"We have, Sir." He answered. There were excuses he could try to make, but Lorne just didn't see the point. Landry was just doing his job and in light of what had happened and Lorne couldn't blame the guy. Someone had to take the fall, and he was willing to shoulder that burden as well. It was the least he could do and his first step towards atoning for his twin sins.

"Because I don't even feel like I know you, son." Landry was younger than Lorne, but somehow his use of the word 'son' didn't seem wrong. Lorne let his head fall in shame.

"I never meant to disappoint you, Sir. I…"

"Disappoint me?" Landry interrupted him and Lorne looked up sharply. "Are you kidding me? Lorne, I've just spent the last day and a half listening to countless soldiers and scientists tell me how you single handedly coordinated an entire mountain evacuation from the back of a cloaked puddle jumper all while attempting a rescue mission. Good grief, Colonel, I was coming to see if I could talk you into sticking around the SGC instead of heading out with Atlantis!"

Lorne knew he looked ridiculous. His mouth was agape and his eyes were wide with astonishment. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"But…"

"You did good, solider," Landry said, sobering suddenly and putting a hand on Lorne's shoulder. "And they are all very lucky to have you."

..

\oO0Oo/

..

Time passed differently in the medical wing of the SGC. It was as if John's very condition ground it to a halt somehow while all the bad news constantly streaming out of the doctor's mouths, slowly worked to whittle them all away to nothing. Only the change was gradual, and not very noticeable at first. But Rodney was starting to sense it now. It gave him the feeling of being paper thin and liable to break apart at the first sign of a stiff breeze, but he tried to ignore it's effects and attempted to hide his rips as best he could.

Rodney took off his reading glasses for a moment and massaged at the impressions the nose pads had left in his skin. He didn't often even wear the damn things, convinced they made him look too much like the old man he refused to believe he was becoming, and even though he knew he needed them. It was one part of getting old he didn't quite like, though he figured it was better than the alternative. John was taking a nice long look at that alternative right now and Rodney didn't quite know what to do about it.

John was dying.

John was dying and there was nothing he, or Carson or Lorne or Landry or Carrie Sinclair could do about it. In fact, Rodney was about ready to start shaking his fists at the sky and demanding that a God he'd never believed in, pull a miracle out of his ass and save his friend. John didn't deserve it – any of it – and Rodney was starting to get angry.

Since when did it become alright for mere mortals to play gods? Those IOA members had done it 20 years ago with the Wraith Hive ships and then Sean Fitzpatrick, or whoever the hell he was, had done it again a mere two days ago. Yes, Rodney had listened to the recording of John and Liam's conversation. Yes, the kid had lead a sad life that had been full of loss and betrayal, just like John's. But where John Sheppard had chosen life, Liam Maguire had chosen madness and it just wasn't fair that he might still win.

John's doctors had been in a little while ago to tell them all to "prepare" themselves. The words were out there now and no one would ever be able to take them back. They were preparing themselves to lose John forever and Rodney couldn't help but rage at the universe for the _injustice_ of it all. There were plenty of evil men out there in the world who deserved a fate worse than death. So why was it that John Sheppard, a man who would protect to the death even the weakest of creatures, was lying in that hospital bed now, fighting for his life? Why was he the one made to lose everything when all he'd ever done was try and make the world a fair and safe place? Nothing about the current situation made sense and it was driving Rodney mad.

Science was a tool he used to make sense of the universe. It broke things down to their most basic levels and delved into how it all worked together to form his existence. Yet there was nothing in any textbook on the face of the Earth that Rodney McKay could read that would adequately explain to him why all of this was happening.

And that wasn't acceptable.

He could find a plethora of information on why John's organs were shutting down if he wanted to. He could find out exactly what the infection raging through his body was doing to him right this very moment, if he felt like it. But there was nothing, nothing at all, that would explain why John had been targeted not once, but twice, by pure evil.

Rodney tossed the book he really hadn't been reading and his glasses onto the bed beside John's still feet and stood up to stretch for a moment, trying to shake away from his anger. Torren had left a while ago to go and take care of some business in the mountain and Rodney had been left alone with Carrie for the past several hours. And he didn't mind it in the least. That woman knew the value of silence and Rodney had decided he would continue to like her based on the fact that she hadn't insisted they turn the little TV bolted to the wall on for a distraction. She was sleeping now. Her head was cradled against the crook of the elbow she had resting on the bed beside John's head, hand wrapped around his as her soft exhalations timed themselves perfectly with those coming from the ventilator's main body behind her. Rodney couldn't fault her for trying to get some sleep. They'd all been through a rough few days and it didn't look as though the onslaught was going to be over any time soon.

And as if to punctuate that point, Rodney heard a commotion out in the hall and raised voices out a few moments later.

"If ye dinnea get your bloody hands off my chair this instant, I'm gonnea knock you into next Tuesday, laddie!"

Rodney glanced over quickly at Carrie, worried for a moment that the commotion out in the hall might have disturbed her, but she slumbered on.

He knew who it was immediately. Rodney would have been able to recognize those dulcet tones anywhere, and he decided the least he could do was go and see if he could help Carson get around whoever it was that was trying to bar him from seeing John this time around.

They were headed into day three of nothing good. Nerves were frayed all around. He wondered why they even bothered anymore with trying to keep Carson away for health reasons when it was clearly only doing more harm than good now. Rodney had attempted to track Lorne down to try and talk him into easing off his stringent NO VISITOR's policy, but the man had been mysteriously MIA for the past several days. Rodney knew he visited. He'd stirred from sleep more than once to see Evan Lorne hovering in the doorway, watching over John carefully with something unreadable behind his eyes. But Rodney figured, like them all, he was just dealing with what had happened in his own way. They were all on edge. Especially now that "prepare yourselves" had been officially spoken by one of John's doctors.

Rodney let his hand rest lightly on top of one of John's and he tried not to be alarmed by how hot and papery thin the skin there felt. He knew it was a result of the fever burning its way through John's body, but feeling it somehow made it all the more real. Infection was setting in and pretty soon there would be talk of sepsis and maybe then… talk of taking John off life support to let him go peacefully, instead of spending the remainder of his life lost in an inferno of fever and pain. Those thoughts had Rodney practically bolting for the door, the need to get Carson in here pronto preparing him to pull out his patented Rodney McKay Charm to get what he wanted if need be.

Carson was in a wheelchair with all manner of machines attached to it: oxygen tanks, heart monitors, IV stands, and he was glaring up at a guard Rodney didn't recognize. The younger solider was trying to block the older physician's way, only Carson wasn't having any of it.

"You better bloody well move, young man. Or I'll have you cleaning bedpans in my infirmary for the rest o' your career!"

"I'm sorry Dr. Beckett, but I was given strict orders..."

"I dinnea give a rat's arse about your bloody orders, man! Now get the hell out of me way and let me in to see my friend!" Carson rolled his chair forward menacingly and the Marine standing in front of him had the good sense to back up a few steps before his toes got run over. Carson was out for blood.

"Rodney!" The physician exclaimed when he finally spotted him coming down the hallway. "Would you kindly tell this mammoth here that it's okay for me to come down there? Tha I'm not gonnea try and blow the place up or sumthin'!"

"Dr. Beckett, I..." the man stammered.

"I bloody well know what you're gonnea say, and you can shove it. My friend is down there dyin' and some baby faced Lieutenant isnea gonna keep me from him!" Carson exclaimed, and readjusted the nasal cannula that was starting to come loose from one ear in his agitation. Rodney couldn't help but wonder how Carson had managed to get out of the infirmary at all. He got his answer a moment later when Lorne came barreling down the corridor towards them.

"Stand down, Marine. It's okay. I said he could come" Lorne exclaimed, a little out of breath when he reached the pressurizing standoff the same time Rodney did and the Marine gave up with a shrug. Carson's angry eyes followed him for a while as he made his way back down the hall.

"The least you could have done was call off yer damn guard dogs, Evan," the physician said crossly and Rodney watched as the Colonel's face went a little red and he held back a retort.

"If you would have waited for me, I would have brought you down myself." Lorne said through gritted teeth.

Carson folded his arms across his chest. "And what, push m'chair the whole way? I dinnea think so, laddie. Everyone's been tryin' ta baby me ever since..."

"...Ever since you woke up from a _coma_ , Carson? Is that what you were about to say?" Lorne's eyes flashed with barely checked anger and Beckett had the good sense to clamp his mouth shut and back off a little.

"Well, it's nice to see you're feeling better Carson," Rodney finally spoke up and two pairs of irritated eyes snapped his way at the exact same time. They also lost all their heat at the exact same moment as well, and Rodney nearly laughed.

Nearly.

"How's he doing?" It was Lorne who asked and Rodney shrugged. He'd been doing that a lot lately.

"Not so good."

The words hung in the center of the crude little circle they'd made like something heavy and unwanted, but altogether unavoidable.

Carson shifted in his wheelchair. "Would ye push me in then? I'd like ta sit with him for a wee bit."

He said it more as if he were seeking appeasement from Lorne. But the Colonel just looked over at Rodney who sighed and rounded the physician's chair to start pushing. It was like there was something fundamentally broken between them now... a connection missing, and while Rodney knew right where to find the missing piece, he didn't know how to fix it. He didn't know how to put John Sheppard back together again. Lord save him, it was the one thing he never would be able to do for the man either, though everything within him was screaming to.

Rodney wheeled Carson's chair in carefully around the doorway, mindful of all the machinery he'd brought along with him, and tried to ignore the small sputtering intake of breath Carson drew in upon finally seeing John. Lorne had bent over to start moving the detritus of their around the clock bedside vigils out of the way so Carson's chair could be maneuvered in closer, but even he had to stop when the physician made that sound. It was like the culmination of all the emotions that had battered against every single one of them ever since John had been shot, coming together in one mournful utterance.

They'd been without Carson Beckett for so long that Rodney had nearly forgotten just how much of his heart the medical doctor really wore on his sleeve.

As soon as Rodney brought Carson's wheelchair to a stop beside the bed, the physician threaded a hand through the bars of the side rail, and took John's IV'd hand in his. It was such a surreal inversion of what had taken place mere days ago when John had sat beside Carson's own bed, that Rodney nearly lost it. He kept forgetting that he wasn't the only one being pulled apart from the inside over what had been done to his friend. Carson was ill to boot, and he couldn't help but wonder if this all was a mistake. The man was barely out of his coma, and now here he was: hooked up to oxygen, unable to get around except for when he used a wheelchair, and being faced with the very real prospect of losing John forever this time.

Rodney could only imagine what it must have been like for Carson that day on Atlantis, when he had been kicked off that helicopter and held back bodily by those marines working for the IOA. That scene out in the hallway a moment ago… Rodney saw the parallels now, and realized the mistake he'd just nearly made. If anything, he owed Carson Beckett an apology for keeping him away from John for this long. The man knew firsthand what it was like to be ripped away from his friend already, and Rodney had almost made him live through the exact same thing a second time.

Feeling ashamed and utterly drained, Rodney collapsed back into the chair he'd been occupying for the past several days and massaged at his aching temples. Carrie, he could see, had somehow managed to sleep through all of Carson's dramatic entrance, though they had been doing their best to stay as quiet as possible so as not to wake her. She was still sawing logs, as Dine had used to say, and Rodney envied her the ability to get some actual rest. He hadn't been able to turn his brain off for days, though he knew his body was starting to rebel against him for it. But there was help for it. Rodney wasn't going anywhere. At least, not until he was certain John Sheppard was out of the woods and on the road to recovery.

Rodney let his exhausted gaze settle back on Carson who was trying very hard to hide the fact that his entire body was trembling slightly. Whether out of fatigue or emotion, Rodney couldn't say, but his eyes fixated on the bent figure in the chair as he constantly checked it for cracks. Rodney wanted Carson to have as much time as possible with John, but not when it threatened his life as well.

"Lads, I had one of John's doctors bring me his chart this morning," Carson said, loud enough to startle Carrie from sleep and get Rodney sitting forward in his chair. "He isnnea doing as well as we would hope, and I think there's something we might try for him. Tha' is, if you're all agreeable to it."

Carrie was blinking up at all of them blearily, but she didn't say anything. Just looked back and forth between them before rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

"I dinnea know for sure, but maybe what I'm proposin' weel help us both to heal a right bit faster."

"You're not thinking..." Rodney started but Carson turned his head so that Rodney could see the tears tracking down his face.

"Aye, laddie, I do. I want to take him to Atlantis. You may think I'm crazy ta think so, but I'm bettin' tha' city might be able to help. And he needs all the help in the world right now."

Carson was right, it was a crazy idea, but looking over at John, watching machines do for him what his own body could no longer do for itself anymore, Rodney was hard pressed to find any reason why they shouldn't at least try.


	22. Saying Goodbye

It was like she was always about to lose her balance. That was the only thing Carrie Sinclair could come up with to adequately describe what she had been feeling for the past several days. The sensation was constant, ever present, and it rocked her center of gravity back and forth until she wasn't sure she would ever find sure footing again.

There was madness in the world once more.

Carrie had worked so hard just to make sense of things after The Great Culling happened. Now it was as if everything was unraveling again around her and the only thing keeping her from being swept back up and away was John's warm hand in hers. She held tight to it, convinced she was the only thing anchoring John to the earth, when in fact it was quite the opposite. He was the one helping her to stay grounded to reality and she clung to him. Never daring to let go for fear that they would both be lost forever if she did.

Carrie was in the back of a _spaceship_... and honest to god spaceship she'd had to sign a mountain of non-disclosure forms just to be able to _see_... and it was hurtling her towards a place people had only vaguely hinted at thus far.

Atlantis.

It was a city spoken about in whispered conversations that she couldn't make out entirely followed by concerned glances in her direction. She kept wanting to let go of John's hand to confront them and tell them that she could handle all this. But she never did, and she was pissed at herself because of it.

Carrie was the daughter of a soldier. Her father had lead her family the way he'd led his troops and she'd been navigating minefields and army bases since before she could even walk. All this should have been second nature to her. Yet this world that John had somehow managed to keep hidden from her for so many years was threatening to upend everything she'd ever held as truth and at times, it was frightening.

The upheaval had begun four days ago when Sean Fitzpatrick had stood dripping melted snow onto the floorboards of Eileen's mudroom, coaxing Carrie out the door and away from home with the alluring promise that she would get to see John again. And she'd fallen for it; hook, line and sinker. Like a fool, she'd been drawn in by that man's magnetism and now here they all were, sitting in the back of something they called a Puddle Jumper, headed to an ancient alien city on the thin and desperate hope that it would somehow help to save the man they all loved.

The Puddle Jumper she was in had two rows of bench seating on either side of its rear compartment and every so often during the flight she would pull her eyes away from John's battered face to study her surroundings. The construction was unlike anything she'd ever seen before, and yet it held a hint of the familiar. It was as if her brain was suggesting to her that she was somehow connected to it all. Like the people who had built it were a part of her, only so many thousands of years stretched between her lifetime and theirs that the connection was little more than an abstract idea in the back of her mind anymore. Still, the craft almost felt alive. Unseen systems hummed behind the metal plates at her back and the grated floor beneath her borrowed boots thrummed with a power that coerced through the entire thing. It came up through the soles of her feet. Lingered for a moment in the muscles of her calves before moving up into thigh, torso then arm until finally reaching her hand where the sensation sat sparking between the link her skin shared with John's.

John's gurney had been wedged into the thin space between the two rows of seats. It sat there in that middle ground like some kind of dividing line separating Carrie from the sad yet determined faces of John's friends from before. No one had meant for it to happen, per se, but this unintentional barrier had cropped up between them all and it was inadvertently separating old from new; the clumsy uninitiated from the seasoned grand masters.

They were, all of them, studying her carefully - had been for some time - and she did her best not to take offense at the scrutiny. Their gazes held no malcontent. There was no anger there behind those three pairs of eyes, just an unsettled wariness that Carrie figured she could understand a little. Her knowledge of all this came from a few hurried conversations with General Landry in the hushed hallways outside of John's ICU room. She had an idea now of what they had all gone through, but that was all it was: an idea. These men had actually lived through horrors she could only guess at and this had been their brutal world, not hers. That position demanded respect, so she would sit there under those penetrating gazes and take it. Maybe even try to prove to them somehow that she was worthy of being at John's side just like the rest of them.

People had tried to talk her into leaving. Not anyone here in the jumper with her, but others that had arrived on base once news of what had happened finally reached other parts of the world. They'd tried to convince her how it would be better for all involved if she just forgot about this place and all she had seen... just simply go back to the life she'd left in rural Wisconsin as if none of this had ever happened.

But it did happen and there would be no forgetting. She'd seen too much blood for that now, knew what it sounded like when brains splattered against wall, and she was as much a part of this now as any of them, no matter how hard they tried to push her out.

Carrie shivered, and memories once again impacted her like the bullets had impacted John.

She closed her eyes against the full body shudder that the memories pulled from her and watched helplessly as the shadows of those moments played out again in gruesome detail in her mind. It was like the images had been captured onto a warped and twisted vinyl record. One that tripped over the same terrible moment again and again in her head until it nearly drove her mad. She gripped John's hand tighter and tried not to shake apart under the onslaught.

Her wrists burned with the remembrance of abrasive rope.

Skin prickled as phantom hands were once again manhandling her into a chair, smashing across her cheek when she resisted with all the violence she could find within herself.

It had literally been hell on earth in that cottage, but she didn't open her eyes again to try and escape from the memories like she wanted to. No, she let them continue on because she would take that physical pain any day if it meant she never again had to replay that image of John being shot right in front of her over again in her mind. Or hear that dull thud his head made as hit the wall behind him, knocked back by the force of a bullet ripping through cloth and skin.

Carrie had a new respect for guns. Most people got to live their entire lives without ever having to see what bullets could do to bodies and to brains, and yet Carrie been forced to see those effects not once, but twice, and all in one day. In fact, the unforgiving grey barrel of a gun pointed at her own head should have been the very last thing she ever saw, but John had saved her. He'd pulled that madman's focus away from her and now he was paying the ultimate price.

Carrie opened her eyes again then and ran a trembling knuckle down the uninjured side of John's face, willing him to wake up. There were so many things she wanted to say to him. He'd never stopped trying to save her that day and had even managed to pass her a pocket knife when he'd first arrived in the cottage. It had been small, barely sharp enough to cut into the rope, but she'd done it. Just not in time. Sean Fitzpatrick had still put that gun to Richard Woolsey's head and pulled the trigger like he was angling for first prize at the county fair. His eyes had gone black in that firelight and the memory of that heat licked up her spine. So much so, she stiffened involuntarily, and four pairs of concerned eyes zeroed in on her all at once.

Carrie looked up. She caught Dr. Beckett's eyes first but he glanced away quickly, ashen face covered in a thin sheen of sweat. For a man who had just been poisoned, she was surprised he was sitting up in the back of the Puddle Jumper at all. He was in the seat closest to the wall separating rear compartment from main cockpit with an oxygen tank captured between his knees and head resting listlessly against the solid wall beside him. Carrie didn't know the first thing about cyanide poisoning or what effects the doctor was feeling from it now, but he looked as though he was in pain and her heart ached a little for him.

Even though Carrie had yet to be able to say more than two words to the man since he'd awoken from his coma, she knew she would inevitably like him. He had kind eyes and ones that hinted at intelligence yet also spoke to a vast capacity for empathy hiding somewhere behind those green pools. She knew he was the architect of this desperate little quest they found themselves on and she'd been catching his gaze fairly regularly over the past day or so. He would look her over quizzically, almost as if he was amused by her, but there had been so much going on around John for the past 24 hours that they hadn't actually gotten a moment to sit down and speak.

Sitting next to Dr. Beckett with arms folded across his chest and brow creased in concern, was Dr. Rodney McKay. His eyes rarely ever left John's face and she understood why. It was a hard thing to look away from. Red and blue bruises had blossomed up on his skin to mix with the yellows and greens of past trauma and his eye was still completely swollen shut. The whole effect reminded Carrie of someone she'd visited in the hospital once with her mother as a child. That forgotten family friend had been involved in a car accident. Her vehicle had rolled down a 20 foot embankment and she'd somehow managed to survive, but her face had been a war zone of abrasions, deep cuts, and stitches. John's face mirrored that childhood memory and she had to stop herself from reaching out to ghost light fingertips over the worst of the damage.

The need to touch John was immense, but the pinpricks of heat she felt on her skin as they all watched her closely had Carrie holding back. Her fingers ached with the need to reach out and smooth down the errant hair at his temple. To offer her own clumsy brand of comfort to the man who would neither feel it nor wake up because of it. But her touch held no power here. There was nothing in her built up arsenal of defenses that would stop this all from happening, not if the universe was determined to take John away from them. She would have to rely on her memories of his touch. The feel of his body against hers that night so many days ago when he had been urgent and needing and _alive_. Not like now where he lay still, unmoving, and burning with fever.

Carrie allowed herself one knuckled caress to the side of John's face then focused her eyes up and away again before emotions could overpower her.

Taking up the seat beside Rodney was young TJ. He looked nothing like his father yet stared over at the older man beside him with all the conviction of a worried son. It was touching really. Rodney had someone around to support him should things take a turn for the worse and Carrie envied them that important connection. She was alone here. Yet every time she locked eyes with the young soldier across the way, his face lit up with an infectious smile she couldn't help but return. He was new to all this too, just like she was, though Carrie suspected he'd been given a far better introduction to it all than she had. Still, he made it a point to try and make everyone laugh and his presence blasted through the ice that had formed around them all like a ship built for the sole purpose of clearing clogged harbors.

The final seat in the row was occupied by a man people had been whispering about ever since Carrie had been able to think about something other than what had happened in that cottage. Colonel Evan Lorne was quickly becoming legend around the Cheyenne Mountain base, though his eyes were cast to the floor like his mind was occupied with other more important things. And maybe it was. But Carrie's mind had moved out of the realm of the violent into one of relief as she thought back on that moment when Colonel Lorne had knelt beside her chair to diffuse the bomb she'd been strapped to.

She'd managed to cut through her bonds with the pocket knife John had passed her, but Sean Fitzpatrick had kept her trapped in that chair even after the ropes had fallen away. She hadn't been able to go to John like she wanted to, even though everything in her wanted to rise up off the pressure switches she had been sitting on to attack the man that had pointed that gun at the direct center of John's chest.

The memory of watching that bullet release would be with her forever.

Growing up an army brat, Carrie Sinclair had developed a thick skin pretty early on. It wasn't often that she was unable to defend herself, but there had been no defense against the madness boiling just beneath the surface of Sean Fitzpatrick. It had burned inside of him as brightly as the fire that had singed the back of her shirt black and blistered the skin there just slightly. The wounds weren't bad enough to warrant any treatment beyond some burn cream from the infirmary, but the fire sat there still, a burning reminder of what had been done; of the lives lost that day.

She shivered again in spite of the heat, imagining her father standing beside her in the Puddle Jumper, arms folded across his chest in disappointment at her failure - at her weakness. A camouflaged specter of childhood memories.

Carrie shifted the arm that was starting to fall asleep where she had it propped between the horizontal rungs of John's bedside rail and wiggled her fingers to try and restore some blood flow there. She half wished that John would squeeze back and give her some kind of sign that he was still in there somewhere, but the hand in hers remained unmoving. It was as dry and as brittle as an ancient sand dollar pulled from the ocean long ago; delicate, and liable to break apart in her hand if she squeezed too tightly at any one time. Her entire world was like that anymore and she wondered what would happen if she let it all shatter around her. If the men she was trapped in the back of the spaceship with would care enough to try and help her pick up the pieces again.

"Carrie, TJ, would you two come up here please?" General Landry requested from the forward compartment a moment later and Carrie reluctantly let go of John's hand. She placed it delicately back where she had found it and against the industrial white of the sheets the grayness of John's skin stood out plainly. She reached out one final time to feel the warmth of his skin. It was too warm really but wasn't that why they were on this foolhardy quest to begin with? To try and help him fight this thing in any way they could?

In a fit of carelessness, Carrie leaned over the railing on the side of the gurney and pressed a kiss into the overheated flesh of John's temple. She didn't care that they all saw and she ignored the Marines who shifted uncomfortably as they watched her, following TJ into the main cockpit area a moment later without looking back.

Carrie could feel that strange and permeating energy even more up in the forward compartment. It called out to her and she sat down in the chair General Landry had waived her into with tingling fingertips and the slightest twinge of vertigo. She'd never felt anything like it before and she looked around trying to find some explanation for the peculiar sensation. Something unseen was sensing her, assessing her, but she didn't understand it and even feared it a little. No one else in the cockpit seemed to be effected by it either, but maybe that was just because they were all so used to it by now. She was the newcomer here. Well, besides TJ, but even he didn't show any signs that the alien craft was effecting him so Carrie pushed the felling away and tried to focus back in on Landry. He was turned a little in his seat and talking to her over his shoulder.

"Most of us have already had the pleasure of seeing this, but I wanted you two to have a front row seat."

The Puddle Jumper was approaching the San Francisco Bay and Carrie sat forward in her seat to marvel at the iconic red bridge growing larger in the forward window in front of her. She'd never seen the Golden Gate Bridge before and the sun was sinking behind it in the west, setting a thin layer of clouds huddled in around it on fire with a riot of red and orange color. Fingers of golden light broke through the wispy cloud cover to stretch across the darkening lavender and navy sky and the mirror image of the whole thing sat reflected in the choppy water beneath the horizon. It was breathtaking really, yet her eyes continually searched the scene for any hint of distortion. There was a enormous alien city lying hidden and cloaked somewhere in the water before them only she couldn't find any sign of it. There was nothing and when the puddle jumper finally broke through the barrier separating city from sky, she couldn't help the small gasp that escaped from her. Carrie put a hand up to her face to try hide the fact that she'd been startled, but General Landry had seen and he chuckled at her from his copilot's chair and even TJ moved forward to drink in what they were seeing.

Atlantis was massive. Larger than she ever could have imagined possible and it sat shimmering pink in the slowly fading light of twilight. The image of it pulled her bodily up and out of her chair. Tiny pinpricks of light were popping up along spindly towers all over the city as it prepared for the coming night and it was like watching a million tiny stars ignite one by one. The city welcomed her with open arms and she was overwhelmed for a moment as the Puddle Jumper began a smooth decent towards a clustered mass of towers at the city's center. She gripped the back of the pilot's chair, but the kid sitting in it ignored her.

"Oh Johnny Boy," she muttered without meaning to, but no one really heard the words.

How had John kept this from her for so long? How had she not seen the evidence of this place hiding behind his eyes every time he talked to her about the past? My god, it must have destroyed him being torn away from this and for so many long years, and she'd had no idea. Atlantis rose up from out of the San Francisco Bay like an ancestral statue she could practically feel the power radiating from it. It reached out for her constantly and she prayed that it was enough to give them the miracle they were all hoping for in coming here.

For as long as Carrie could remember (ever since the Great Culling, really) the world had felt like such a desolate and lonely place. The Wraith had come to prove to them all that they were not alone in the universe, but that revelation hadn't brought the hope mankind had been looking for. Fear and uncertainty, that was what the Wraith had promised the people of earth, yet Atlantis was like the counterweight to all of that. It's gray skin reminded her of the bellies of the great wide ships her father used take her to see as a child. The ones they sent out into international waters with reinforced hulls to try and keep the peace.

Carrie glanced over to TJ who was also up and out of his seat, watching the ancient city approach and their wide eyes met for a fraction of a second in the shared space of the forward compartment. It was just long enough for the young man's eyebrows to shoot up after his hairline before they both went back to watching out the forward window again.

The pilot maneuvered the Jumper expertly down and through a door that opened up beneath them, revealing the bowels of some kind of dimly lit hanger bay below. There were other ships just like theirs tucked away in their own compartments along the far walls. Others sat out on the open floor in various stages of dismantlement and though there was evidence that people had only just recently been working on them, tools lay abandoned on the floor and there was no one around that Carrie could see.

She was nervous all of a sudden. It dawned on her then that she'd come to the end of everything they'd been trying to prepare her for and there was nothing left to do now but walk out the back of the Puddle Jumper and face whatever came next. She would do it, of course. She owed that much to John, but that didn't stop her palms from sweating or her heart from thumping against her chest wall in a staccato beat that tried to match her rapid breathing. All of this was a far cry from the withered winter cornfields of southern Wisconsin and she felt lost. Adrift in a sea of things she couldn't possibly hope to understand or comprehend. It was messing with her center of gravity again and TJ, as if sensing her rising anxiety, appeared at her elbow.

Carrie tore her eyes away from some spot she'd been staring at in the darkened bay beyond and looked over at him. He was holding an arm out, offering her its support, and she took it, thankful for the small gesture of mercy from a kid who was showing wisdom beyond his 19 years.

"You ready?" He asked quietly as the rear hatch began to descend behind them and she shook her head, giving an honest answer to his honest question. She wasn't really, but she forced her feet to move forward anyway as she let TJ lead her away.

The room they exited into was cavernous. It was dimly lit by random pools of white hot light, cast down onto the floor by overhead lamps hidden somewhere high above. Everything simmered in a military green haze that reminded her a little of the past, but those thoughts were quickly chased away by the scene laid out before her.

It was overpowering. Her steps faltered, and she held tighter to TJ as if the boy could keep her from collapsing in on herself somehow.

There were hundreds of them, stretching out in two long and winding lines from rear hatch all the way over to the large bay doors that lead out into the main part of the city. Shoulder to shoulder the men and women stood together in silence, solider and scientist alike. The path they created with their solemn figures was navy dotted in white and the reverent silence that descended around them spoke more eloquently than any soliloquy ever could.

Carrie's heart was in her throat. She knew that John had been important to a number of people, but nothing could have ever prepared her for this benevolent show of respect. There were so many people and each of them either saluted as John's gurney passed or inclined their heads to bring a fist up to heart in a quiet display of veneration. It was impossible to describe the feeling in that hanger bay at that moment and Carrie didn't even bother to try and hide the fact that she had begun to cry.

The whole of Atlantis had been emptied. Every face that they passed held evidence of a life touched by one single man, and it was devastating. She didn't know anyone in the crowd and yet still felt a kinship to each and every one of them. Their shared prayers for the man on the gurney being wheeled ahead by armed military guard made them family, and if there was one thing in all the world that Carrie Sinclair cherished, it was family.

She was quickly coming to the realization that John Sheppard's family was many. And as they finished their journey down the rows of men and women who had all come to pay their respects to a brave and fearless solider, Carrie tried to see it for the celebration that it was, and not the funeral march that it felt like.

..

\oO0Oo/

..

Atlantis was beautiful. There just wasn't any other word to for it. Where Cheyenne Mountain had been cut from living rock and lay underground, hidden away from the sky, Atlantis embraced it. She entombed it, mimicked it almost.

The city was constructed from airy corridors and rooms so massive Carrie had to squint up to see the ceilings of them at times. Everything was done so elegantly and on such an enormous scale that she'd often walk into a space and have to stop for just a moment to drink it all in. And she'd never seen so much _light_ before. It saturated everything and although she'd only seen a fraction of the city so far, she already felt at home inside of it. She'd walk into a room and that strange energy would reach for her, welcoming her in, and it was like some missing piece slid into place each and every time it happened.

Carrie couldn't explain it. Maybe she didn't even really want an explanation, but it felt as though Atlantis was alive around her and while she found the sensation intriguing, she couldn't help but notice a shallow undercurrent of sadness that seemed to permeate every facet of the city since they'd arrived last night.

It was as if Atlantis knew.

Like she could sense what was happening with John somehow and was mourning for him as they all were. At times the sadness was so palpable that Carrie had half a mind to run her fingertips along a wall just try and sooth the hurt. She kept meaning to sit Rodney down and ask him about the strange things she'd been feeling, but the right time had yet to present itself.

Carrie spent most of her time in a chair beside John's bed and for the past several hours she'd been listening to his friends reminisce about those elusive times from before. The ones they no longer seemed to care if she heard about or not. She'd finally been absorbed into their bubble and she sat at the edge of it as unobtrusively as possible, trying not to give them any reason to force her out again. She liked these men and to help take her mind off things - if only for a moment - she'd invented a kind of game. She would study each of them in turn, thinking back on long forgotten nebulous conversations she'd had with John about the past and try to decide which of the friends he might have been talking about. His stories had always seemed to revolve around the _idea_ of someone, never an actual person, but as she watched those four friends talk, she was starting to connect some of the dots.

Dr. Beckett was the fatherly figure spoken of often but with the slightest twinge of regret, like there was something more to his story than John was willing to let on. Rodney was the well-meaning know-it-all that had gotten John into more scrapes than he cared to admit but who had remained a steadfast friend in John's eyes, even after so many years apart. And finally Even Lorne, the unwavering second in command who's loyalty was second to none. The consummate solider would gladly lay down his life for a friend. These friendships ran like a vein through all the ill-defined pieces of the past John had chosen to share with her over the years and she felt like she genuinely knew these people.

Carrie was no fool. She knew that to them she was nothing more than a tolerated outsider at present, but she could tell she was slowly managing to worm her way into their hearts... at least a little. The chair she was sitting in now was evidence enough of that. It always seemed to remain open for her, even during those times when she had to step away to pull herself back together again every time the doctor came in to announce that John was still headed down a dangerous road.

He'd been back on Atlantis for half a day now and they were all waiting around anxiously for the miracle that had yet to show its face. There had been a measureable uptick in the number of bedside visits by John's doctors and Carrie knew Carson Beckett was taking John's lack of progress the hardest. Relegated to the role of patient rather than doctor, he'd been fighting the infirmary staff at every turn and his bed had been pushed up beside John's in an attempt to appease him a little.

Carrie could tell that today had been particularly hard on him because he was lying back against his pillows looking careworn and drawn. The nasal cannula that had been a regular visitor on his face had been replaced today by a clear mask covering nose and mouth. He pulled at it greedily at times, droplets of condensation gathering on the insides and fogging up the plastic.

Every so often he would reach up as if he were about to pull it away from his face, and every time he did, Rodney McKay would stop what he was doing to glare over at him. The nonverbal communication that sparked between them said everything.

 _"Don't do that,"_ Rodney's eyes would plead. _"I can't lose another friend today."_

And so they sat crowded around the converged beds. A ragtag group of weary friends trying to fend off despair even as it sat circling above their heads like a kettle of vultures after carrion. They were 5 completely different people, not a shared drop of common blood among them, but bonded together in a way that was stronger than any familial tie could ever be. And John was the connective tissue. The permeating thread that wound around them all until she wasn't sure where she ended and they began in this whole mess. That bond would be important, especially if this didn't end they way they all were hoping it would.

Sometime later, after Dr. Beckett had been wheeled away for a scan and TJ and Rodney had decided to go in search of something nutritious to eat, Carrie found herself alone with John for the first time in a long time. Even Colonel Lorne had left her to go off in search of Landry and she looked around the now empty curtained off space and missed them all a little. She sighed and captured John's hand in her own once again, the muscles of her arm remembering the maneuver as if by rote.

John was pale. Carrie reached out her other hand and brushed her fingers through the salt and pepper hair at his brow. Smoothing it back a moment later with the palm she ran gently down the uninjured side of his face. She could touch him freely now and she mapped his features with fingertips, mindful of his injuries, as she memorized the topography of his face.

"Oh, Johnny Boy," she sighed, letting her hand fall away when she was finished. "What a fine mess we've gotten ourselves into this time."

John was still, and there was nothing but the gentle rise and fall of his chest to suggest that he was even alive at all.

"This place is amazing, John," she mused with a crooked half smile, absently wrapping a strand of his hair around her forefinger. "Did you know that I can bring up the lights in a room just by thinking about it? It's nuts and that's not even the half of it. It's like this place is alive. I keep meaning to ask Rodney about how it all works, but I don't even know if I really want to know anymore. I can see why you loved this place though, and why you decided to come back here, even after everything that happened to you." She traced the line of the tape securing the ventilator tubing in place and tried to ignore the moisture gathering at the corners of her eyes.

"Don't be mad at Landry or Rodney, okay?" She continued. "But they had to explain a few things to me. I know all about what happened with the Wraith now, love. About how Sean Fitzpatrick was involved, and I want you to know that I could never, ever blame you for what they made you do that day, John.

You know, I almost didn't believe General Landry at first when he told me. I mean, I always knew you were struggling with something heavy, but I never imagined it could be something as terrible as that... and I wish you would have shared it with me, John." Carrie paused as her throat constricted, clogging with the words she tried to push through the diminishing space. When she blinked next, tears released from her lashes, then rolled. The paths they left behind were cold.

"...I could have helped you somehow. Anything you needed, babe, and I would have done it for you in a heartbeat. I get now how hard it must have been for you to have to stay away from this place for so long... stay away from all of _them_. And I like them, John," she smiled through the tears. "They're the kind of friends you hold on to for dear life, aren't they? And I know for a fact that they feel the exact same way about you. So if you've got anything left in ya at all John, we need for you to keep fighting. Okay love?

Don't give up. And don't let Sean Fitzpatrick win, especially not after you fought so hard to get back here.

I watched you try and save that boy, John. You offered him a way out... a chance to make it right again, but he shot you in the chest anyway, didn't he? And I know how hard it must be for you right now. And I know how easy it would be just to let go, but you can't, alright?" She swiped at her cheeks, wiping away the rolling lines of tears that wouldn't stop now.

"They need you.

Atlantis needs you.

Can you feel it? She's so sad right now, John and I know she wants to help you, but I don't think she knows how to do it. So you just gotta hang on, okay? Hang on for just a little while longer and I promise this will get easier." She buried her face against his shoulder, searching out his familiar scent and breathing it in as deeply as she could when she finally found it.

"I love you, you hear me?" She whispered wetly against his neck. "So much... and you do not get to leave me here alone."

Carrie knew it wouldn't be allowed, that she would likely be kicked out of the infirmary because of it, but the pull to be near him was just too great and she eased herself down onto the bed beside John. Taking up the least amount of space she could, Carrie let everything out against a scratchy infirmary blanket and sobbed herself to sleep.

..

\oO0Oo/

..

When Carson Beckett had left the infirmary, all the chairs surrounding John had been filled. Yet when he returned a little while later after enduring numerous blood draws and a full body scan, Carrie was the only one left in the room. She had fallen asleep curled up on the bed beside John. She was just a wee little thing and hardly took up much room and Carson was careful to stay quiet as he transferred himself from bed to wheelchair under the scrupulous gaze of the tech that had helped him back to his room.

"D'ya not have somewhere else you need to be right now, laddie?" He snapped, batting the young man's hand away even as he tried to help him with a tangled IV line. The fact that he still had to have the damn thing at all was driving him mad and he knew he was just taking his frustrations out on everyone around him. Truth was, he was worried, more worried than he'd ever been in his entire life, and he didn't have any defense against it except for stubbornness and sarcasm. He knew it was driving the infirmary staff crazy, but he just couldn't help it.

Giving up on him with a sigh, the orderly left Carson alone in his wheelchair with the sleeping Carrie and disappeared past the thin curtain that cordoned off this space from the rest of the infirmary. Carson wheeled himself over to the other side of John, engaged the break on the chair with his heel then sat back with a dissatisfied sigh.

This was the one time where his skills as a physician were a curse, not the cure. He was well aware of the gravity of the situation. He'd seen John's charts and could read the signs in the falling oxygen levels and low blood pressure readings that the monitors above John's bed had started to squawk about. He could see it on the faces of the staff he'd handpicked himself as well, though they tried to tiptoe around the issue like they were afraid of upsetting him or something. They didn't want him to think that this idea of his had somehow killed John... but he honestly didn't look at it that way. The idea to bring him here to Atlantis had always been a shot in the dark, a Hail Mary play as they said, and it wouldn't be anyone's fault of it didn't end up working.

Well no, that wasn't quite true. The blame would fall to someone, not that it would bother them much. The man Carson would blame was dead and gone now. Lying on some cold morgue table and mourned by no one.

Carson cast tired eyes over to the stats broadcasted out across the room by John's state-of-the-art monitor (a new addition to the infirmary courtesy of the USSF) and tried not to worry about what he saw there. Each issue was being dealt with either by drug or by time and he knew there was nothing he, or any of them, could do for John now.

So many countless years of study, so many long hours honing his skills till his fingers bled, and for what? All he could do now was wait. Wait to see if John Sheppard would live. Wait to see if he would die. Wait to see if an impractical idea born from fevered dreams would somehow be enough to help his friend survive.

It was a shaky hope Carson clung to, but he grabbed hold of it with both hands and refused to let it go.

"I've been a doctor for a long time now, John," he started suddenly, white knuckling the sides of his chair like they could give support him somehow, "and I've seen things you probably wouldnae even believe to be true." Carson shook his head with a laugh. "I've watched men, some nowhere near as strong as you and twice as bad off, come back from the very brink of death. I've watched that happen with me own two eyes, laddie."

He sat forward and set a gentle hand onto one of John's blanketed calves.

"But you? You're somthin' special, aren't you? And I cannae help but think that if you were to leave us now, this place wouldnae be able to survive long without ya. As soon as we brought you here, I could feel her come back to life, you ken? And you did that. It was like she could feel that you'd finally come home and I think now she realizes that you arenae doin' verra weel.

They're never going to understand, are they? What it feels like to be called by this place. I know you feel it more keenly than I do, lad, but I want you to know that I notice it as well. And I think you're girl might be a carrier, too. Rodney thinks I should test her first, of course, but I've seen this place light up for her, John and we both know what that means, don't we?."

Carson took a breath. "I guess what I'm tryin' to say to you, oh so ineloquently John, is that you cannae give up on us just yet. We all need for you to try and fight this thing.

I know you've lead a hard life son, and that it would be so easy just to let go and get to that place where Ronon and Teyla are but if you've got any fight left in ya at all laddie, use it now, a'right?

But, if you have to go John..." he let his head fall, but only for a moment and only to regain his control, "...just know that weel all take good care of her for you. Weel watch over her and make her safe... and I dinnea just mean you're city, John. You have my word on that, laddie."

"Carson, what are you doing?" A strangled voice asked from behind him and he stiffened slightly.

"What does it look like I'm doin', Rodney?" He replied with a weary sigh, and Rodney walked over to dump an armful of junk food onto the foot of John's bed.

Carson was expecting some kind of argument to erupt, but Rodney stayed silent for a moment before rounding the edge of the bed to shake Carrie gently awake.

"We're back," he said with a soft smile when the sleeping woman finally roused. "Why don't you go join TJ in the mess and take a break for a while."

Rodney suggested it innocently enough, but Carrie looked back and forth between the two of them, picking up, Carson figured, on the sudden tension that had flared up between them. She seemed to understand then what Rodney was really asking of her and she nodded with a slight knowing smile. This woman was learning all of their little idiosyncrasies fairly quickly and she breezed out of the room a moment later after making them both promise that someone would come and get her should anything change with John.

Carson watched her leave, deciding in that moment that he genuinely liked that woman, and pretended not to notice when Rodney turned his way with angry hands on his hips.

"What's going on?" The astrophysicist demanded. "Why are you saying goodbye to him?"

"Dinnea be daft, Rodney," Carson let out, folding his hands in his lap and scraping the bottom of his barrel for the strength he needed to have this conversation.

"Well it sounded to me like you were saying goodbye," Rodney retorted a little petulantly. "Now, what's going on? What are they not telling us?"

Carson was used to this. As a physician he'd dealt with his fair share of irate families, but with Rodney, it was different. The scientist had to be handled with kid gloves at times and Carson knew what loosing John again was going to do to him.

"Rodney, John's been shot..."

"I know that!" he interrupted angrily and Carson slammed an open palm down onto the arm rest of his chair.

"Damn it man, d'ye want ta hear this or not?" It shut Rodney up and the man had the good sense to hang his head.

"Look, John's been shot, Rodney. His body has suffered a trauma that someone even half his age would have a hard time comin' back from. Now, I brought him here in the hopes that Atlantis would help, and maybe she is, but righ' now he isnnea doin' very weel and we need to prepare ourselves for what might come next."

"And what, say our goodbyes? Give him permission to go?" Rodney lost his battle with calm and let his voice rise. "Cause I'm pretty sure that's what you just did, Carson!"

"Aye laddie, I did." Rodney threw his arms up in a huff and stalked away to the other end of the room. "But only after I practically begged him to keep figthin'! It's out of our hands now, Rodney."

"Well, I don't accept that." Rodney was facing the wall, shoulders heaving, and he didn't turn around.

"I know you don't, lad."

"Then why do you? It's a crock of shit, Carson, and you know it!" Though Rodney stood facing away from him, Carson could still tell that he was on the verge of yelling again.

"You are not responsible for any of this, Rodney. You know that, right?" Carson asked carefully, feeling the familiar tug of déjà vu. He'd had this same conversation with John a week or so ago.

The tension in Rodney's upper body fled and he sagged forward with palms pressed into the wall.

"How can you say it's not my fault?"

"Because its the truth for one thing."

"It was my plan Carson. Fuck, I'm the one who dragged him into the Atlantis project in the first place!"

"Bloody hell, Rodney. Where do you think Lorne is right now, hmm? He's probably off hiding somewhere in the city and blaming himself for everything tha' has happened. And d'ye not think that I don't blame m'self as well for missing all the signs that that kid was a fake? He fooled everyone, Rodney! John included, and no one person gets to shoulder all that blame alone! We're all of us responsible for what's happened here and I'll not sit idly by while Sean Fitzpatrick destroys us all from beyond the grave. I won't have it, Rodney! I won't!"

He coughed then, oxygen unable to get in around his boiling emotions and Rodney rushed back over to kneel at his side.

"Shit," the scientist muttered as Carson continued to struggle for breath. Rodney ran back over to the bed to retrieve the oxygen mask Carson had left sitting there. He held it to him with shaking hands and Carson grabbed for it eagerly, pulling at the cold and steady flow of air until his lungs remembered how to work again.

"Sorry..." Rodney said a few minutes later when Carson had regained his composure again and he set the mask back down in his lap.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," he said genuinely and Rodney offered a weak smile back before collapsing onto the edge Carson's empty bed. There was no fight left in him now.

"I just don't think I'm ready to say goodbye to him yet," Rodney let out on a shuddering sigh, chin falling to chest as he stared at the hands he had clasped between his knees.

"None of us are, laddie," Carson said quietly, trying to catch Rodney's gaze again. "I think that's what maybe makes this part so difficult. We all get so wrapped up in worries about how his death will affect our own lives, that we forget to think about what's best for him." Carson inclined his head in John's direction and Rodney finally looked up. "This isnnea about us, Rodney, It never was, though I know it's hard to remember that at times."

"So you're saying I should let him go? Just like that?" Rodney's eyes were wide and lost but they held no hint of anger now.

"No, Rodney. That isnnea what I'm telling you at all," Carson sighed. "All I'm saying is that you should make your peace with the fact that he might not pull through this, then let things happen as they will."

"So you want me to have faith then?" Rodney's eyes narrowed.

"Aye, in a way."

"Carson, you're not making any sense." Rodney shook his head with a tired laugh then looked away again.

"I dinea know, Rodney. Maybe, I'm not. But they're doin' all they can for him medically. So maybe now it's time to just sit by his side and be there with him through whatever comes next.

And if me telling him that I'll protect what he's leavin' behind helps him in those last few moments in any way, weel then, I willnea apologize for saying it."

Rodney lifted his chin and regarded him heavily. Something shifted between them then and Carson felt the pull of it deep at his center.

"I'm just not ready to say goodbye to him yet, Carson," Rodney said again, barely louder than a whisper.

"I know, laddie." Carson replied, just as soft. "I know."

..

\oO0Oo/

..

A crescent moon hung in the sky over the San Francisco Bay. It's ghostly shape lay reflected in the agitated surf beneath her balcony and she watched it try to mingle with city lights in the water below. They reached out from the shore with luminescent fingers that raced across the rolling surface of the water like the lights of a passing party boat. The current tried to bring them in even closer, waves broke against the side of Atlantis in a futile attempt, but they just didn't reach that far.

Carrie stood on the upper most level of the tallest most tower she could find and let the California December wind mess her hair. Every so often a gust of it would whip up around her tower and lift the hair framing her face, strands of it getting caught in the wet tracks left behind by her tears.

No particular plan in mind, but desperate to feel anything other than her grief, Carrie placed two trembling hands against the cool metal of the balcony railing to try and connect with the energy that thrummed there beneath her palms. Everything around here thrummed and she didn't know if it was something that came from within Atlantis herself, or if it was just perhaps an interesting effect created by the water lapping up against the submerged sides of the city. But whatever caused the strange vibrations, the hum was sad, and she let it make a mournful circuit throughout her body.

It carried off little bits of her in the process, but always left something behind in return for what it had taken.

"I miss him too," she whispered out into the wind, running a hand lightly along the railing. Maybe it was stupid and maybe it was all just a figment of her imagination, but Atlantis felt like she was listening.

Carrie closed her eyes and a fresh wave of tears crested her lids and slid down her cheeks, turning icy as they went in the wind.

"He's not doing very well and they say it won't be long now. So help him if you can, okay?" she pleaded quietly, sending out through her hands what she felt in her heart, and Atlantis stilled beneath her palms.

"Please, don't let him die."


	23. Collateral Damage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I'm sure most of you noticed, it's been quite a while since I updated this. I could probably fill a book with all the crap that happened to me over the past several months, but I'll spare you the sob story and promise instead that this will be finished soon. I'm so close. I just have a little tweaking to do with the remaining chapters and we're done. There won't be another three month hiatus and thank you all for sticking around to finish the journey with me. It's greatly appreciated. Enjoy. Next chapter should be up in a few days.

"Okay." 

 

The word was simple enough, yet it caught at the back of his throat, refusing to come out properly.  He tripped and tumbled over it ungracefully until, clearing his throat, he tried again and the ageing scientist working the station near Atlantis' dialing device paused to look up at him sadly. 

 

"Ok, I've heard enough," he tried again.  "Shut it down."

 

There was an energy that filled the room every time the Stargate was engaged.  It was a rumbling, pulsating thing you never realized was there until it wasn't and as Radek Zelenka cut the power to the activated gate Evan Lorne felt its absence more keenly than ever.  It left behind an empty space inside of him this time and he apparently wasn't the only one who felt it.  There were a dozen or so people up there on the platform with him and all of them had gone quiet.  In the stillness that followed, even Atlantis seemed to be pausing to take in what had just happened.

 

Evan Lorne wasn't used to failure of such an epic nature.  Sure, he'd had his moments (and big ones at that), but he'd dedicated his life to trying to be the best solider he could and hits like this... they were devastating.  They went against every internal oath he'd ever made to himself (especially the ones he'd made regarding John Sheppard) and it sickened him.  He'd failed that man before, and now he'd gone done it again and for a moment, Evan Lorne regretted his decision to come back to the SGC.

 

The feeling was fleeting, but it was there.  Without Sheppard, it would just be more of the same: a desperate scramble to find someone else who could fly the city, and years and years of waiting in limbo when they couldn't.  That was the life he'd just given to the scientists and techs in the room with him and the weight of that realization piled up on top of his already laden shoulders. 

 

The computer screen before Evan had gone dark, but like the rest of the people up on the platform with him, shock still rooted him in place.  He'd been expecting the transmission, had been waiting around all day for it in fact, but nothing could have prepared him for what he'd heard.

 

A galaxy full of allies, and no one was coming to help.

 

The bits and pieces of him that made up the solider half of his brain understood the reasoning behind it.   Whether or not Earth was able to send a science expedition back to Pegasus was hardly a life or death situation in the eyes of their Milky Way allies and John Sheppard was merely one man in a galaxy of trillions to them.  New threats emerged then receded all the time and Earth and her allies were always stretched thin, but that human part of Evan Lorne - that part that raged for what was happening to his friend - just couldn't understand why they all wouldn't just drop what they were doing to come and help.

 

It's what he would have done.  Protecting Sheppard, it was just something they all did.  It was this deep seeded loyalty born from the mistakes of the past, but Lorne figured it went back even further than that.  John Sheppard was the kind of man, the kind of friend, that you held on to.  He was the soldier who would cross enemy lines to bring you home safely.  The brother who threw himself over your back to protect you from the worst of the blast.  He was the kind of CO you'd follow anywhere... and now he was going to die.

 

Lorne felt his hands yearning to contract into angry fists but a soft touch on his forearm stopped the tension before it could go any further.  Dr. Zelenka, eyes soft and just beginning to yellow with age, gripped his arm with a surprising strength and Lorne looked back and forth between the hand on his arm and those eyes. 

 

Radek was telling him it wasn't his fault and for a moment, Evan Lorne wanted to believe it.  He wanted to convince himself that leaving Sheppard alone in that hospital after the crash was not the cause of all this.  He wanted to believe that those few seconds of delay before this team had reached the cottage hadn't cost John his life.  He wanted to believe all of it, but in the end he just couldn't do it, and while the anger deflated from him just as suddenly as it had come, the sadness did not go with it. 

 

He smiled weakly at Zelenka and the ageing scientist patted his arm before turning to address the platform.

 

"That's it for tonight, I think.  Why don't you all go back to your quarters."

 

If people spoke as they packed up and moved off, Lorne didn't hear them.  He stood facing the powered down monitor, arms wrapped around his middle as if they would keep him from rattling apart somehow.  Part of him wanted to turn around and ask the departing scientists to please keep the news they'd heard to themselves, but he knew it would be useless.  The Atlantis rumor mill was a force in and of itself and Lorne had no doubt that, come sunrise, the whole facility would know that their last ditch efforts at finding someone to save Sheppard's life had failed.  It would happen even if he threatened every man and woman in that room with Court Marshal.   So he ignored them all and let them go until it was just him and Radek left in the Gateroom.

 

"I know what it is your are thinking," the scientist started out carefully and Lorne nearly laughed.

 

"I doubt it." 

 

He wasn't normally short with Dr. Zelenka.  The man had long ago earned his respect and friendship, but the shock of the Tok'ra's refusal to help and knowing it had been his last line of defense, had Evan feeling raw and exposed.  It was a feeling he'd never done well with, those around him bearing the brunt of that inability to cope.  It had destroyed countless relationships and even a long ago marriage, but it was a part of him and one he felt like embracing at the moment.

 

"You heard the message," Radek continued, unfazed by the curtness of his reply.  "No one is close enough to get here in time.  You can hardly take the blame for that, Colonel."

 

But he could, and he would. 

 

He was the one Landry had tasked with finding an off world ally who could possibly save Sheppard.  It was his own empty promises that had kept Rodney away and in the infirmary close to John.  Lorne had been given this one mission to complete, and he'd failed at it so spectacularly that it would cost one man his life.

 

And that realization was threatening to tear him apart. 

 

He'd even gone so far as to try and tap Dr. Daniel Jackson, but even he was off on some off-world, clandestine mission for the SGC with his partner, Vala, and couldn't be reached.  It was as if fate was thwarting his every attempt at saving his friend, and it didn't stop with the Tok'ra's latest transmission.  Things had been going wrong from the start.  Sabotage, murder, cyanide poisoning.  Hell, even the Daedalus being sent out to scout Pegasus ahead of the expedition had backfired.  Oh what Lorne would have given to have that ship around when Sean Fitzpatrick had taken everyone hostage.  If it all had happened just a week sooner, then that psychopath would be in custody, Richard Woolsey's brains wouldn't be splattered all over a dilapidated cabin at the edge of the base and John Sheppard wouldn't be fighting for his life down in the Atlantis infirmary.

 

" _Colonel,_ " Zelenka said softly, the hand returning to his arm.  "Evan, this is not your fault."

 

He could argue.  Part of him wanted to, but he gave the scientist what he wanted and forced out a terse nod and a strained smile.  Zelenka looked anything but convinced, yet let go of Evan's arm to reach for his cane propped up against one edge of the console.  He stood up easily and Evan wondered for a moment why he bothered with the cane at all.  Zelenka had recovered so well from the loss of the limb that sometimes Lorne forgot that the leg beneath the scientist's trousers was a prosthetic at all.  But it was the short, truncated steps that looked almost painful that he took next which reminded Lorne of what that man had lost.  Atlantis was a beautiful city, but she demanded payment from time to time.  They'd all give it to her in kind, but some had been forced to give more than others. 

 

Sheppard would pay the ultimate price, but sometimes it was the survivors who suffered the most.

 

"We all knew what we were signing up for here, Lorne,"  Zelenka spoke again in his slightly accented english, and Evan realized he'd just been caught staring at the doctor's leg. 

 

Zelenka raised his cane and tapped it lightly against the artificial appendage.  The sound it made was hollow. 

 

"I was angry about this for a long time," the scientist began, glancing down forlornly at his leg.  "I wallowed and wondered 'why me?', but then I had an epiphany of sorts one day, and I never worried about it again.  It occurred to me that there was not a single day on Atlantis I would trade for even the slightest chance at getting this back."  He tapped the leg again then looked over at Lorne, refusing to speak until Evan raised his eyes to meet the scientists'. 

 

"This city is a choice, Colonel Lorne, and one we all make.  We knew it would be dangerous - risky even - but we did it anyways, because the rewards were always going to outnumber the risks.  General Sheppard understood that, and, somewhere in that messed up head of yours right now, you know it too. 

 

The key, Even Lorne, is to get yourself out from under the things you can't control, and embrace the things you can."

 

"And what's that?"  He asked, unsure of what to make of the impromptu lecture he'd just been given.  "What do I possibly have control over now?"

 

Zelenka smiled.  "You are a good man, Colonel Lorne.  You have compassion and strength, and there is an infirmary full of people right now barely holding on.  Perhaps your efforts would be better spent on them, then wallowing up here alone."

 

Without further comment, Lorne watched Zelenka disappear down a ramp that had been installed in the Gateroom to help some of Atlantis' less mobile staff members get around and tried to decide how to feel about what had just happened. 

 

Atlantis was a choice, and one he'd made knowing it would never be a cakewalk.  Hell, in the beginning there had been a very real chance that they would never even see Earth again, and he'd gone anyway.  But that was also back before he had an entire Expedition to worry about.  It was back before betrayal and before over half the earth's population had been decimated.  They had been both more complicated times and less complicated times and Lorne couldn't help feeling like he'd just managed to exchange one set of problems for another. 

 

Maybe he just needed a rest.  For years it had been "just until after the next Armageddon" and now here he was, pushing 50, and still leading men into battle, feeling no more equipped than he had 20 years ago.

 

Sighing slightly, Lorne looked down at his hands and tried to decide what to do next.  Zelenka had given him one option.  He needed to go to the infirmary anyway and give Rodney and Carson news that their last attempt at getting someone in to help John had failed.  But when it came right down to it, he just couldn't make his boots go in that direction.  What he really wanted to do was loose himself in mindless paperwork for a few hours just to see if it would be enough to make him forget what was really going on, if only for a moment.  He even glanced over to Weir's old office where he'd taken up temporary residency, but found he couldn't go that way either.  

 

When he'd taken over that empty space a few months ago,  it had been just that: an empty space.  Now being in there felt like a betrayal of some kind and he couldn't bring himself to go back in there now.   So he stood in the silence of the Gateroom for a while, lost in a teeter-tottering world of limbo. 

 

Night had fallen over the San Francisco bay.  Even though every light in Atlantis burned with the awesome power of three fully charged ZPMs at her core, San Francisco slept on, ignorant of the massive ship that was resting in the waters of her bay. 

 

The funny thing was, Atlantis would go on running, too - even if John Sheppard passed - and that thought hit Evan Lorne hard. 

 

Dying was a part of life.  As a solider he'd seen his fair share of death, but there was something different when it came to someone close to you.  He'd attended funerals before, handed flags to grieving widows, and he'd always felt like he understood the pain they were going through.  But he had no clue, not really.  His first taste of that true grief had been the day he'd lost his parents and now that feeling was gaining momentum inside of him again.  It was colossal and he remembered why he'd found it so fitting that some cultures stopped all the clocks in a home shortly after somebody died.  The idea that time could go on after such a devastating loss was unfathomable.  Everything should come crashing to a complete standstill.  The universe should stop and acknowledge that it had lost a very important and vital thing...  but it never happened that way, did it?  They could try and preserve the illusion, and sometimes it worked - but in the end that's all it really was: an illusion. 

 

Atlantis would go on running. 

 

The SGC would continue its search for a new ATA gene candidate.

 

And Evan Lorne would keep on working until the day it killed him, too.

 

Knowing what he needed to do next, Lorne made his weary way down the main staircase and paused just as he reached the bottom.  Something - a twinge near the center of his gut maybe - made him look up, and for one brief moment he thought he could make out the blurred silhouette of John Sheppard, standing before an activated Stargate and bathed in the blue hue of an event horizon. 

 

The apparition was dressed from head to toe in battle gear, P90 grasped firmly in its hands and tucked securely against one side.  Without sound the vision turned, smiling at Lorne with one of those cocky half-grins and a slight inclination of the head as if offering Lorne the chance to come with him.  It was a moment they'd lived through countless times before and one that should have been lived through countless times after, but one that was never to be lived through again.  Lorne suddenly wanted to reach out and stop his friend, yell at John not to go, but the vision disintegrated quickly and he was left standing alone at the base of the Gateroom stairs, wondering if he'd seen the thing at all.  Atlantis had shown him some incredible things over the years.  It was possible what he'd just witnessed had been some projection conjured up by the grieving city, and he tried to decide what it meant.  The things he came up with... they were too hard to examine, so he pushed them back down and headed out the door, not even allowing himself a glance backwards to see if the apparition had reappeared. 

 

He made his way back to the Atlantis infirmary slowly and tried to ignore the grief that clutched at him with no mercy.

..

\oO0Oo/

..

 

TJ McKay (or McLaren, depending on who you asked at any given moment) had always had this list inside his head of the things he would do before he died.  It was a good list, too.  One filled with all the normal things a kid his age should have:  skydive, see the world, meet a girl...  The list went on to stranger things, but as he sat in the quiet of the nearly empty Atlantis infirmary with a forgotten book propped up against his knees, he found he really didn't want to examine the rest of that list.  Whenever he did, the anger at the center of him would flare to life, and he was getting pretty tired of trying to beat back the flames that constantly tried to devour him.

It was quiet in the Atlantis infirmary right now.  Things had only finally just begun to settle down after Colonel Lorne's latest visit... though Atlantis still quivered around him like she was as angry as any of them over what was happening. 

 

Everyone in the room had dealt with Colonel Lorne's news in a different way.  Pops, per usual, had gotten pissed and belligerent.  Doc Beckett had gone internal and Carrie Sinclair had followed Colonel Lorne's lead and fled just as soon as the message had been delivered.  TJ had decided to stay behind and for the past hour or so he'd been attempting to lose himself in the familiar book that now sat heavy and unread in the space of his lap.  But it had been in vain, and not even Tolstoy's heavy prose had been enough to spirit him away as he sat wallowing in the pile of ash which was all that was left of that last strange half of his bucket list.

 

There were no windows in this part of the infirmary - no path of the sun or the moon through the sky to tell the passage of time by - but TJ still knew it was late.  The evidence of that late hour was there in the heaviness that had settled down around his bones and, judging by the blank numbness of it all, it had to be three, maybe four o'clock in the morning on this, his third day in Atlantis.   TJ would never understand why things like this always happened in the early morning hours when he was at his weakest.  Why they decided to plow through him with no mercy at the exact moment he'd lost all energy to fight.   It never happened gradually either, or after a good night's sleep.  Tragedy was more often cruel than she was kind, blindsiding them out of nowhere as if the universe were correcting itself swiftly and angrily for some transgression they didn't even know they'd made.

 

And what was happening, it _was_ tragic, because for as long as TJ could remember he'd been dreaming of returning to Atlantis and traveling with the expedition back to the place where he'd begun, and now all of it, every single bit of it, was slipping through his fingers like water.

 

John Sheppard was going to die, and he was going to take with him everything TJ had been working towards for the last 18 years of his life.

 

Shifting restlessly in his chair, TJ let the boots he had propped up on the edge of one of the infirmary beds fall.  They hit the pale linoleum with a dull thud and the cover of his book followed suit  a moment later as he moved.  TJ cast careful eyes over to the sleeping men at his right, but the noise hadn't been enough to wake either of them.  It was Pops in particular he was worried about waking, but his adoptive father slumbered on, lost in some dream TJ had half a mind to wake him from.  It was something TJ had done before.  Pops had always struggled with the things he'd seen and done over the years with the SGC and TJ had woken him from his fair share of nightmares, but he just couldn't bring himself to wake Pops now, even though his eyes darted beneath their lids ceaselessly.  He needed the respite, no matter how cruelly earned.  They'd all been awake for the past 72 hours or so and his father would need all the rest he could get.  Especially if...

 

TJ glanced back down at the book lying closed now in his lap and fingered one frayed edge of the book's ancient cover.  He'd lost his spot in the story, but he really didn't care.  He'd been trying to disappear in its pages for a while now, but mostly he just ended up reading the same passages over and over again until they blurred or his mind simply wandered.  He flipped the heavy cover open again, wincing slightly as the binding gave a precarious groan, then let a fingertip linger over a name inked into one soft corner of a page. 

 

The book was old.  It was a forgotten relic from a bygone age yet as integral a part of TJ's past as the man who had once owned it.  Publishers didn't even make books like this anymore.  People still wrote, it was just all digital now and the public used personal computers to read it all.  The dusty old book shops and their crotchety, bespectacled old caretakers were a thing of the past now.  Pops was always going on about how he thought that was a travesty.  TJ just figured it was one of those unforeseen casualties of progress, but even he had to admit there was something to be said for the feel of an old book in his hands.  Something substantial and real about the smell of old leather and the musty delicateness of a publisher's original typeset.  

 

The ink used on the name in the upper hand corner of this particular book had all but faded, but TJ's fingertips could still make out the indentation left behind by the heavy hand.  The name had been scribbled quickly, like the man who had written it had been in a hurry, and memories wicked up into his finger to form pictures in TJ's mind:  a messy-haired Airman fresh out of training, inking his name onto one front corner of his book so that it would always find its way home, the tome sitting on a shelf or the corner of a table always watching its owner... the day that owner had disappeared and the book was saved by a scientist determined to give it back to him someday.   All of it played out in his mind and he ran the pad of his finger over the name and contemplated its meaning.

 

 _John Sheppard_.

 

The legend himself.  

 

The superhero that had been as big a part of his childhood as Superman and Batman and the other heroes of the comic books he'd coveted. 

 

He'd spent countless nights as a child falling asleep to the stories Pops would tell him about the adventures he'd gone on with that man and TJ forced his eyes open and up.  He made himself look over at all his childhood adventures made flesh and tried not to get discouraged by what he saw there.

 

John Sheppard looked broken.  His face was a highway of cuts and puffy flesh left over from the beating he'd gotten at the hands of Sean Fitzpatrick.  Yet despite all the trauma and the fact that he was lying in an infirmary bed close to death with little chance of survival (if the doctors were to be believed), TJ could still see evidence of the man he had once been... the man he still could be. 

 

Uncle John, as Pops had always called him, had always been this Indiana Jones type figure in TJ's mind - complete with iconic fedora - swooping in on jungle vine to save the day each and every time.   He could see that possibility in the thin, muscular frame Sheppard still maintained from his youth.  He could sense it in the constant stream of visitors to the infirmary door, none of whom came to gawk, but to pay their respects to a man who had touched their lives in some way or another.

 

And it didn't seem fair. 

 

TJ and the other members of the expedition were about to be denied it all because of some psychopath with a gun.  Sean Fitzpatrick had managed to single handedly wipe out an entire lifetime of dreams and plans with two well placed slugs to the center of John Sheppard's chest and now TJ's world was in the process of imploding in around him.  The cornerstone had been yanked from his very foundation and he was teetering on the brink of complete collapse... one breath of wind in any direction the only thing standing between his destiny and total annihilation.  

 

Everything in his life had been building up to this one epic moment... this one chance, and he was losing it.  He was watching it fall disintegrate right before his eyes and the worst part about it?  There was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it.  TJ had spent the better part of a year training to be a soldier and now the first battle he was going to be faced with was one he couldn't even fight in.  It was an internal, solo mission he couldn't have joined, even if he wanted to because there was nothing countless months of training could do to help a body heal or fight off a massive infection.  There were no orders to be given to organs that simply couldn't function on their own any longer.  TJ didn't even have the luxury of going after those responsible.  Sean Fitzpatrick was already lying cold and dead in the Cheyenne mountain morgue, taken out by Colonel Lorne and his team long before TJ had even arrived. 

 

He was being denied everything, and it was enough to set his blood to boiling over for the first time since he'd arrived.  TJ had been trying to keep his cool on account of Pops, and so far he'd managed to keep himself under control, but the closer things got to the end, the harder and harder it was to keep the lid on securely.  He'd made the mistake of visiting his mother's old quarters the day they'd arrived on Atlantis.  He'd gone alone, something he probably shouldn't' have done since Pops had wanted to come along with him, but he'd made that trek up to the space he'd shared with his mother for so short a time, alone. 

 

There was nothing left of her there.  Atlantis had long ago been sanitized of any hint of the people who had come before, but TJ still felt a presence there.  Echoes could be like that sometimes, the energy of the past so strong that some of it stayed behind no matter how hard someone tried to scrub it all away.  He could feel her there in that bare room with him, only it was as if she were watching him from the other side of some veil he couldn't see through, some barrier separating him from the one thing he wanted most in all of this.  All his life he'd been trying to break through barriers like that and in that moment, he'd made a pact with himself to do whatever was necessary to make sure he made it back to Pegasus.

 

Only he wasn't going to make it back to Pegasus now, and not only was he going to lose his chance at finding his parent's people again, but he was going to lose his last untapped source of information about his birth parents. 

 

TJ knew a lot about his mother.  Pops had always been up front with him about who she was and where she'd come from, but when it came to his father, Kanaan, that's when the normally loquacious Dr. Rodney McKay shut down like a steel trap.  TJ didn't think his adoptive father meant to do it.  Maybe Pops took the careful questions TJ asked as a betrayal of some kind, he couldn't be sure, but he knew next to nothing about the man who had given him life. 

 

And John Sheppard was supposed to have been the answer to all that.

 

Rodney and Diane McKay had been fantastic parents.  TJ had grown up in a safe and loving home, but there were things he knew his adoptive parents had kept from him.  He figured he could understand Pops wanting him to protect him, but TJ had been banking on the chance to pick John Sheppard's brain about the past.  Everything he'd learned about the man as a kid had led TJ to believe that this long lost uncle of his would finally give him the answers he craved, only now that opportunity was slowly fading away.  It was circling the drain along with the man in the bed beside him and TJ balled his hands into fists, that anger inside of him forming his fingers into ineffectual balls that could do little more than crumple the delicate paper beneath his hands.  

 

It really wasn't fair.  When Pops had called him with the news that John Sheppard had been found, it was like getting everything he'd ever wanted handed to him on a silver platter.  Suddenly it wasn't a question of _if_ he would ever make it back to the galaxy where he had been born, but _when._   And for two straight weeks after, he'd cataloged all the things he'd say and ask John Sheppard when they finally got the chance to meet. 

 

It was perfect.  Too perfect, really, and he had been a fool to think that he would actually get what he wanted. 

 

Death had been following Torren John Emmagan around for his entire life.  She stalked him from the shadows like easy prey, toying with him at times as if he were some plaything and not her next meal.  But death always managed to get her claws into him eventually, and this time would be no different.  General Hank Landry had shown up on his base and the dreams he'd so carefully constructed broke apart around him in an instant. 

 

At first TJ had thought the general was coming to tell him that something bad had happened to Pops, but even through the haze of relief that washed over him when he realized that wasn't the case, TJ had still been cut deep by the story General Landry had told him.   For most of their 4 hour flight across the western United States, the seasoned military officer had laid everything out for Torren: Atlantis, his own connections to the SGC, and though he wasn't quite sure what it was, something changed inside of TJ during that flight from his former base to the Cheyenne Mountain Complex.  For the first time in his life, he found something that felt a little like belonging.  The world he was being offered, it was strange and convoluted and dangerous, but it was _his_ world - his mother's world - and he was finally going to be a part of it. 

 

Trouble was, there wasn't much good going on in that world at the moment.  He was headed straight into the storm and he'd been brought on board not so much because he deserved it, but because Pops needed an anchor.  TJ was okay with that, he understood it even, so he'd changed, right then and there, into the son Pops would need and the solider John Sheppard probably wouldn't.   That feeling of belonging stuck around, but it was pliable now and it was no match for the other things that forced their way inside his brain, like sadness and that all encompassing anger still simmering away inside of him.

 

Realizing he was still crumpling the pages of his book, TJ released the tension in his hands with a sigh and smoothed back the pages with the palm of his hand. 

 

Anger was useless. 

 

It wouldn't change what had happened and it certainly wouldn't save John Sheppard's life.  If death was going to take this last hope he had at finding out the things Pops wouldn't tell him, TJ knew enough about loss to understand there would be no stopping her, though his heart still ached at the thought of it; for Carrie especially.  Hers would be a grief that none of them would understand because none of them had known John Sheppard for the past 10 years... not the way she did.  When the doctors had come in and told them it wouldn't be long now, she'd run, and TJ didn't think he couldn't blame her for it.  News like that had to be processed and some people handled that subtle art very differently.  Pops... he normally talked incessantly, and TJ had been relieved when his old man had finally been able to drop off into something resembling sleep a little while ago. 

 

Then there was Doc Beckett. 

 

TJ had only known the man a for few days now but already liked him.  He was sharp as a tack and had this way with Pops TJ had never seen before.  He could handle him almost as well as Torren could, and that fact alone was enough to earn TJ's respect for life. 

 

Their initial meeting had been a strange one.  As soon as the doc had gotten a good look at him, his eyes had gone wide with shock, then suspicion; realization next, until they finally narrowed and settled on Pops with a mixture of contempt and hurt.  TJ had a feeling that was going to be happening a lot in the coming weeks and that any hope they'd had at keeping TJs anonymity intact would probably be futile.  Still, once the silent argument between his dad and the good doctor was over, TJ and Doc Beckett had settled into a friendly report that TJ had already grown to love.  It was sad that they hadn't been able to meet before.  Carson Becket was a riot and TJ sometimes caught himself imagining what life would be like on Atlantis, living and working beside that man and Pops.  For a few brief moments the possibilities would spread out before him, infinite and endless, until the crushing realization that all was not to be swept through and burnt it to ash. 

 

TJ would never know what life on Atlantis was like, not if John Sheppard died, and if the Brigadier's condition was ever in question, all he had to do was look to Doc Beckett.

 

The physician was smart.  His intelligent eyes tracked every single doctor and nurse that visited their space and TJ learned fairly early on that if he ever wanted to know if a staff member was bullshitting them or not, he need only look over at Doc Beckett.  The man picked up on everything.  He understood the meaning behind every update given, and he wore the results of that intelligence on his face like a banner for TJ to read.   There were moments when that face would harden - others when it would soften to the point his eyes filled with tears - and TJ played a kind of game with the infirmary staff for a while after that.   They would come in and give their updates with cheery smiles, and TJ would look to Doc Beckett to see if what they were saying was true.  Pops must have picked up on all of it too because he'd exploded in true Rodney McKay fashion on one poor internist who'd smiled just a little too brightly.  It wasn't long until he'd had every member of that infirmary staff quaking in their scrubs, and TJ couldn't help but laugh at it.  Pop's outburst had been arrogant, but it had helped, and, in the end, the infirmary staff dropped their attempts at optimism.    

 

Chuckling a little at the sudden lightness the memory brought, TJ closed the book in his lap again and set it on the end of his uncle's bed.  A blanket one of the now terrified nurses had brought Pops was staring to snake it's way off his lap and TJ pulled himself out of the uncomfortable infirmary chair to readjust it, careful not to disturb his dad. 

 

If felt good to stand up for a moment.  The chair he'd been occupying for the past several days was one of those hard, uncomfortable jobs he was pretty sure the infirmary only kept around because it discouraged guests from staying too long past visiting hours.  The thought of plopping himself back down into nearly made him shudder.  His muscles were too angry at him now for the treatment they'd received over the past several days to be still again and he yearned suddenly for an nice long run.  For 14 months he'd done nothing but train religiously and his body wasn't used to going days without so much as a workout.  He hadn't seen much of the city just yet, but something told TJ that the places to jog in Atlantis would be epic.  He needed the feel of her unyielding metal beneath his feet, and he contemplated leaving for a while to go get it. 

 

But something was holding him back. 

 

There was hint of finality in the air... a feeling that things were beginning to come to a close, like that moment in a movie just before the credits rolled.  It was that feeling that kept him confined to the space of their little curtained off world and, eagerness to leave forgotten, TJ shuffled over to the seat they normally kept open for Carrie and collapsed himself down into it. 

 

Maybe it was the late hour and the constant fatigue of the past several days.  Maybe it was just the calm before the real storm hit, but TJ lost whatever forward momentum he'd had going and scrubbed his palms down over his eyes.

 

"I had plans, Uncle John," he blurted out suddenly, surprising even himself with the words.  "I was going to take this damn place by storm and now it's all going to shit." 

 

He laughed into his palms then raked them the rest of the way down his face.

 

"I don't even know if you can hear me or what all Pops' told you about who I am, but I could really use a miracle here, Uncle John.  You know, pull one of those good ol' Atlantis Hail Mary's out of left field three points down in the 9th." 

 

He snorted at the absurdity of what he'd just said, then shook his head.

 

"But seriously, you and me, we were gonna go places.  I was going to get the inside scoop from you about my birth parents and you were going to impart all that patented Sheppard wisdom on me, right?  So why'd you have to go and get shot?  Why couldn't they keep you safe?"

 

TJ thought about the remaining ATA gene carriers then with a derisive snort.  Even though the threat against them had seemingly been eliminated, they were still shepherded around Atlantis like messiahs; heavily guarded and protected around the clock.  He got angry sometimes when he watched them pass, a dwindling group surrounded by armed guards, shuffling down the hall at a quick pace as if the devil himself were at their heels.  Where was his uncle's protection when everything was going down with Sean Fitzpatrick?   Why hadn't someone seen through that animal's charade and put a stop to it before they all ended up here. 

 

But nobody had, and now John Sheppard would die.

 

Even as a kid TJ had always known that he would join the USSF and follow in his uncle's footsteps.  Pops had spent those formative years of his trying to push science on him, but TJ had remained steadfast to his military dreams until one day Pops had finally just thrown up his arms and given up.

 

"Just tell me why," his dad had asked angrily one morning as he cleared away the college applications he'd laid out in front of TJ at the breakfast table.  "Why would you choose that path when you know where it could lead?"

 

"You know why,"  TJ responded, trying to keep his cool.  They'd been having this particular fight for a while now.  "I want to be a part of the Atlantis Expedition, Pops."  There was more to that - TJ knew it and his dad knew it - but he couldn't bring himself to speak of it.

 

"So go to school!"  Rodney exclaimed, tiptoeing around TJ's response too and waiving the collected pages in the air.  "You have an amazing intellect, son.  Go to college, get a degree and join the SGC as part of my team.  Leave the machine guns to someone else." 

 

There was a look Pops got in his eyes sometimes and it was shining full blast at TJ now.  It both spoke of the past and worried for the future and part of TJ wanted to just cave and promise his father that he would go to college like the good little boy Pops apparently still saw him as.  But there was something burning in TJ's veins.  It hid right beneath the surface of his skin.  The _something_ was just hot enough that it never let him be and he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he would never be happy in the life that Dr. Rodney McKay had envisioned for him.  It was nothing against his adoptive father - TJ loved the man more than anything - it was just that he'd been suppressing who he really was for so long that he just couldn't do it anymore. 

 

His mother had been a warrior.  TJ felt that same fire racing through his own blood, and he knew there was only one place for him. 

 

TJ sighed heavily and for a moment, his father's face changed.  It held a hopefulness that he'd finally convinced his young, adoptive son to choose the path of least resistance.  Too bad he was about to be disappointed yet again.

 

"I can't do it, Pops," TJ answered carefully, watching his dad's gaze fall away.  "If the SGC never gets the Atlantis Project back up and running again, I can't spend the rest of my life chained to a desk. 

 

...That's your world, not mine." 

 

Resentment filled Pops' downcast eyes at that but TJ ignored it and kept going. 

 

"Doing this, joining the SGC, you know it's something I've got to do." 

 

The old man's gaze snapped back over to him at that. 

 

"You'd serve in their military?" He questioned heatedly.  "Even after what they did?  What they would have done to you had they known who's son you are?"

 

"Oh Jesus, Pops!"  TJ exploded in spite of himself as they finally came to the heart of every argument they'd ever had about this particular subject.  "You gotta stop seeing the enemy around every corner!  You _stopped_ them, remember?  Anyone at the SGC who would have had a problem with you keeping me here on earth is gone now.  So please, stop trying to protect me all the time!"

 

"You're joking, right?"  Rodney McKay laughed mirthlessly.  "You don't know what it's like out there in that galaxy, son.  I do.  You've never had to watch a Wraith suck the very life out of your own best friend or race against time to stop some alien technology from killing everyone around you.  I was just a scientist and that place still managed to nearly kill me daily.  And you want to go out there and lead your own off-world team?  Well, you can forget it, TJ!  I won't have it!"

 

"God, would you listen to yourself?  I'm not eight years old anymore, Pops!" 

 

'Pops' was something TJ had only recently begun calling his adoptive father and, judging by the look he got next, his dad was still trying to decide if he liked it or not. 

 

"I know you're not," Rodney grumbled, looking away.

 

"Well, then stop treating me like I am!  I'm not going to sit around here and let my life pass me by just because you can't handle the idea of me getting hurt!  People die, Pops.  And I'm sorry you lost Teyla and Ronon, and I'm sorry that Uncle John is gone, but I won't let you smother my life just because you think the same thing's going to happen to me!" 

 

It was a soft spot he'd just poked at and that fact was clearly displayed in the storm that broke out across his adoptive father's face.  TJ braced, ready for that maelstrom to be unleashed on him directly, but Rodney McKay remained uncharacteristically quiet.

 

Their sightlines had converged in the center of the room: one pleading, the other, unreadable.  It had been a standoff, and one that would never fully resolve, and it's memory still plagued him even to this day. 

 

John Sheppard was a loss his father had never fully recovered from and now he was being faced with living through that same loss all over again.   Then to top it all off, TJ was here now and about to head down that same path John Sheppard had chosen for himself so many years ago.  He could see why his adoptive father had always had trouble grappling with the decisions TJ made about his life, but it was just no use, because for all of Dr. Rodney McKay's efforts, TJ had always known it would never be enough to change who he was inside.  Change who he was at his core.  He was always going to be the son of Teyla Emmagan, no matter how much he tried to fight it.

 

TJ forced his eyes back over to his dying uncle, hating himself a little for what he was about to do.  The demands he was going to make, they weren't fair, and maybe he was a terrible person for wanting them in the first place, but he was tired of playing the patsy.  If death was to be his bedfellow for the rest of his life then he needed to get in a good 'screw you!' every so often to maintain the balance. 

 

Otherwise, what did it all mean? 

 

"You can't die," he said a little too forcefully, lowering his voice as Pops stirred, but didn't wake.  "Because if you do, then it's over for me.  I'm never going to get another chance like this and you're fuckin' it up!" 

 

If Pops had been awake he would have smacked TJ right upside the head for what he was saying, but he just didn't care anymore.  They might have turned him into a soldier, but part of him would always be that little boy, alone and different in a world that wasn't his, just trying to find a way back home.

 

"So I need you to get a handle on this thing and come back.  I don't care how you do it or where you have to go to do it, just get your ass out of that bed, stop scaring the shit out of people, and wake the fuck up already!"

 

Loss was making him cruel.  He didn't mean half of what he said, but anything seemed better than the alternative.

 

"Did Pops tell you I did all this for you?"  He tried again, swallowing back down some of the heat.  "Did he tell you about all the knockdown, drag out fights we got into over me joining the military just so that I could get the _chance_ to serve under you?  I worked my ass off to get here and now some punk with a gun is going to end it all?  I don't think so.  I mean, come on, you're the legendary John Sheppard for christ's sake!  Since when do you get taken out by some psychopath and a couple of bullets?" 

 

Without even realizing it, TJ had taken hold of one of the bedside rails so tightly that his knuckles had gone white.  Angry tears had begun to gather at the corners of his eyes and he chastised himself for the weakness.   He inhaled to go on, but then stopped.  Realization flooding his system and making him let go of the bar.

 

He was an idiot.  He'd let himself climb too high, too far above the cloud cover, and now he was stuck on the precipice of a mountain with nowhere to go but down.  Only every escape route available to him was obscured by the gathering clouds.  He had no idea how far the drop would be or if he would even survive it... 

 

And he was terrified. 

 

His dreams, they were all he had, and he didn't know how to exist a world where they were no longer a possibility.  No one had been back to Pegasus since right after the Wraith War and he doubted he could talk Landry into organizing a mission back there on the Daedalus just for him when the ship got back.  Earth was _still_ trying to recover from the decimation left behind by the Wraith War and what few ships had been developed in the 18 plus years since the war were already in play and off trying to keep the galaxy safe.  Atlantis was his only shot and John Sheppard was taking it with him to the grave.

 

He had a right to be angry, but as he turned hostile eyes back towards his uncle's still form, he paused, shamed almost immediately by his abject selfishness.

 

A man was dying, and here he was, sitting beside that man's bed and whining about how his death would ruin TJ's life.  John Sheppard deserved better than that.  Rodney and Diane McKay had raised him better than that, but the deep dark truth of it was, TJ was in mourning.

 

And it wasn't just for the loss of this unknown uncle.

 

He was mourning for everything.

 

Growing up had been lonely business.  Pops' family had been taken that day by the Wraith and Diane was an only child with no extended family.  Ever since TJ had spent the night at a friend's house once and had seen firsthand what it meant to have a large family, he'd craved one of his own.  John Sheppard was not his blood, but TJ had always known that, if they ever found one another again, he would get that family he'd always craved.  And that didn't just go for Sheppard.  Carson Beckett was a big part of that too.  So was Colonel Lorne, though he seemed to be a little tougher nut to crack.  These people were what he'd been searching for his entire life and TJ would have gladly given up all hope of returning to Pegasus if it meant that he could have that family again. 

 

So there it was. 

 

"I'm s-sorry," TJ stammered, clenching his teeth to keep from coming apart.  "I'm sorry, Uncle John."

 

TJ reached a hand out to thread it through the bars, but stopped suddenly when a noise to his left caught his attention.  It was faint at first and for a moment, TJ wondered if his uncle had somehow heard what had just been said and was responding.  But then the noise began to grow and before TJ's brain even had time to register what was happening, the sound had morphed into a wail and rough hands were pulling him up and away from his uncle's bedside.

 

"Oh shit."  He wasn't even sure it was he that had cursed but there was no time to find out.  Chaos erupted in the small space they had been occupying for days now and TJ realized with a sinking feeling that John Sheppard was not trying to wake up.   

 

John Sheppard was dying. 

 

...TJ had pushed too hard.

 

Panic sped everything up.  People called out to one another across the room and TJ thought he might have heard his own name called from within the din, but he kept his eyes trained forward.  The chaos was converging into one, sense dampening blur around the still figure at its epicenter and it wasn't until two strong hands whipped him around that he was able to wrench his eyes away from his dying uncle at all.

 

Pops was squeezing his arms - so hard he would leave bruises - and TJ tried to pull away to look back over his shoulder at what was happening behind him.  But Pops' hold on his arms remained steadfast and he finally forced his eyes up to meet his father's. 

 

"TJ, I need you to go find Carrie.  Do you think you could do that for me?"  He asked seriously, searching TJ's face with concern.

 

"Y-yeah, Pops," he stammered, trying get his stupid brain to focus.  "Anything you need."

 

"This is important, TJ.  Okay?  I think this is it." 

 

 _It_?  Did he mean _the_ end?  That moment when the clouds parted and he realized there really was no path down the mountain and he was stranded forever?

 

That moment?

 

"TJ?"  Pops repeated his name warily, shaking him slightly.  "Please son, I need you to go do this for me." 

 

Maybe it was the way Pops said it, or something inside of TJ himself finally snapping back into place, but reality came crashing back down around him in an instant and he stiffened under his father's grip. 

 

He was a soldier.  He'd trained for intense situations like this, and here he was, losing it and letting the panic drag him down with it.

 

"I'm on it, Pops."  He said determinedly, shrugging off his father's hands but squeezing a shoulder before he rushing past him.

 

TJ took off for the exit of the infirmary without looking back, calling out to anyone on the airwaves who might be listening.

 

"Anyone got a 20 on Carrie Sinclair?" he asked.

 

"She was up at the top of tower 9 last we saw her. Should still be there," someone answered back and with the klaxon wail of death following him down the corridor, TJ McKay threw himself into the first transport he came to, and prayed he would reach Carrie Sinclair in time.


	24. A Light at the End

_“Please, don’t let him die.”_

In the sudden deadness of the air around her, the plea left her lips easily enough, but it didn't go far, lost in the stillness as Atlantis no longer rumbled beneath her hands.  A shadow seemed to pass over the moon and for one brief moment, Carrie Sinclair’s heart was stuck in her throat.  She wasn’t ready for this, for a reality where John Sheppard didn’t exist.  It seemed wrong… foreign somehow, and her tired mind wanted nothing to do with the notion.  

While whispered begging seemed appropriate before, now everything inside of her yearned to scream.  To thrash and to wail and to demand that the universe get off its ass and _fix_ this thing already.  John was just one man - she got that - but what she couldn't quite wrap her head around was the gnawing feeling inside her gut that told her his death would have ramifications she couldn't quite understand yet.  That there would be consequences.  She could sense them nearby but had neither the experience nor the knowledge to understand what they were.

Those men back in the infirmary knew. 

She could see it on their faces, in the way that knowledge deconstructed them from the inside out each time they looked over John’s broken and battered body.  

They knew what his death would mean, even if Carrie had only begun to scratch the surface.

The urge to rage suddenly so strong at her core, Carrie drew in a breath of air and got ready to release it - in what form, she couldn’t be sure - but whatever it was going to be, it was cut short by a soft voice calling out her name from behind.

“You certainly picked an interesting place to hide, Carrie Sinclair.”  It was a woman speaking and whatever shadow had taken up residence over the moon fled from the sound of her voice.  Carrie whirled around and could just about make out the slight silhouette of a figure standing in the darkened balcony doorway.  That in itself was strange, because the corridor outside had been well lit only an hour ago when Carrie had pushed herself through those exact same doors to seek out the solace of the night.

“Who are you?”  She demanded as she tensed.  Her surprise and fatigue made the demand sound as rude as it was distrusting. 

In the pale silver of the moonlight, she couldn’t really see anything but the woman’s outline.  Whoever she was, she was small - compact almost -  but as she stepped out onto the balcony and farther under the starlight, Carrie could see that she was made of tougher stuff than she’d realized.  The light of the moon illuminated the figure’s reddish brown hair and she moved with all the elevated grace of a well trained dancer.  While Carrie knew instinctively that she was no match for this woman physically, she was oddly unfazed by her sudden appearance.  The woman exuded a kind of calm, something Carrie Sinclair hadn't felt in a very long time.  

“My people have a legend about a medicine woman who would sit under stars like these each night,” the woman mused, ignoring Carrie's demand and gesturing towards the star filled night sky and the city twinkling beyond.  In the rippling surf below, the diamond reflections of the stars glinted as if gleeful she’d mentioned them by name. 

“She would sit on the riverbank until dawn and make the same wish on each and every star: that her village would be cured of whatever sickness had befallen it.  And in the morning, all would be well.  We call the brightest star in the sky Ashtaria, in honor of her sacrifice.”

“Sacrifice?”  Carrie questioned, knowing she should probably be pushing the woman further for her identify but choosing at the last moment to just go with what was happening.  The woman came up beside her at the rail and rested her hands on the metal.

“There are many stars in the night sky,” she answered the question simply with a slight shrug of her silver painted shoulders.  “That’s a lot of wishing for one woman.”

There was more to the story, Carrie could tell, but she didn't press.  “So, are you a member of the Atlantis expedition?”

Carrie was a little miffed that her solitude had been breached, but there was something about the woman that made the intrusion a little easier to forgive.  Carrie couldn’t remember seeing her in the jumper bay when they’d first arrived in Atlantis, but that didn’t mean much.  The ancient city spread out and away from her in all directions and Carrie knew, even if she spent a lifetime combing the halls that networked beneath her feet, she would never be able to explore it all.  She would never meet all the people who called her home.  Atlantis could sustain thousands - would someday if John survived – and she doubted if even the Ancient race who’d built this city knew all the secrets she held.

“I am a part of the Atlantis Expedition,” the woman was answering, pulling Carrie away from the enormity of those meandering thoughts.  “Or I was, rather.”

Carrie turned her head slightly to eye the woman standing beside her.  The reply she'd given was saturated in grief and regret and Carrie tried to decide what the woman had meant by it. 

“He’s not dead yet,” she finally replied, after a moment of silence.  “There’s still hope.”

“Indeed,” the figure returned, the smile on her face apparent even though Carrie couldn’t see it properly in the dark.  Unsure of what to say next, she looked back out over the water and released a wary sigh. 

“I used to search for places like this myself,” the woman went on, running her hands along the balcony rail.  “I was raised in a place where people lived off the land, and Atlantis was so foreign from my own home.  It was as if I couldn’t breathe at times, but there were always places I could go to see the stars.” 

“And wish on them?”  Carrie asked.

“Sometimes.”  The smile was back in the woman’s voice.  “There were many reasons to wish on them all back in those early days.”

“So you _were_ around before.”  Carrie stated, suddenly excited to meet someone else who had been a part of John's past.  “Did you know him?  John, I mean?”  But Carrie could tell almost immediately that she’d hit a raw nerve.  She’d taken them some place the woman beside her wasn’t ready to go just yet and she instantly regretted it.

Perhaps that was why Carrie hadn't seen her in the Jumper Bay the other day.

“I _did_ know Colonel Sheppard, yes,” the woman answered carefully.  There was a sadness in that voice now that scared Carrie a little bit.  She wasn’t used to having to share a love of John, but she knew that jealousy was something she would need to get over soon, because (as she was quickly beginning to learn) John Sheppard belonged to them all.  He belonged to every soldier, doctor, tech, and scientist aboard Atlantis. 

“He’s going to make it, you know,”  Carrie interjected stubbornly, as if the mere act of saying the words would make it so.  She knew it was probably useless, but she wouldn’t let that stop her from trying.

“And does Rodney share your optimism?”  The woman asked coyly.

“Dr. McKay?  He wants us to put John into some kind of suspended animation until they can find someone to come help him.  But Dr. Beckett managed to convince him that it’s not what John would want.”

“And you agree?”

“Well, I think Dr. Becket is right…”

“But?”  The woman pressed, correctly sensing that Carrie had more to say. 

“… but I also don’t think John would want us to just give up on him.”

"I see." 

Atlantis was still quiet beneath Carrie’s hands and for a moment she wished the city would take back up its thrum again.  She missed its constant vibration and almost sentient presence, as if the city could tell her if she was on the right track or not.  But the cold metal felt like nothing more than cold metal beneath her palms now.  The city nothing more than a city, its fingers stretching out beneath her and reaching for San Francisco as if in search of the earth.

“If he’s going to make it through this, he’s going to need all of you.  If you can find it in your heart to trust me, Carrie Sinclair, I can show you what it is you need to do.” 

The woman’s words took Carrie by surprise and she whipped her head around once more to eye her uninvited visitor skeptically.  The woman turned to face her as well and Carrie finally got a glimpse at her features.  She was pretty, with a kind face and sad eyes that reflected the light of the stars back out into the night.  She was at the same time both beautiful and terrifying, though Carrie wasn't afraid.  Those eyes were pleading with her and Carrie recognized something inside of them even as the woman reached out to take Carrie’s own hands in hers. It was a strange feeling.  The woman’s touch tingled slightly and her cold dry hands were a startling contrast to the heat and damp of Carrie’s own.

“What could I possibly do to help John?”  She asked, matching sadness for sadness in her voice.  Every single thing Carrie had seen or done since arriving on Atlantis had been unusual.  While it felt as though the city had welcomed her with open arms, she still felt like an unsuspecting pilgrim finding a promised land she never even knew look for.  She was confused with what to do with it all and lost in a sea of sensation and unfamiliar surroundings.

What power could she possibly have here?

“There’s a lab, deep in the heart of the city in a place where no one has been for many years.  Atlantis will show you the way if you let her, but you mustn’t tell anyone where you are going.  The device you must find, they will try to keep you from using it.” 

Carrie tensed and fought against the urge to pull her hands away.  It figured there'd be a catch.

“It’s not what you imagine, Carrie," the woman promised anxiously, sensing Carrie's sudden apprehension.  "The device, it was made for people like you.  There will be no adverse effects, but you must promise to return to it and give back what it gives you.”

“Wait a second," Carrie interrupted, catching something in the woman's plea that had her instantly on high alert.  "What do you mean it was made for ‘People like me’?”   She was wary, not sure if the idea of using some unknown device on herself was scaring her, or if it was the fact that she knew she was probably going to do whatever this stranger suggested to help John.

“Have you noticed how the city responds to you?”  The woman replied, tightening her grip.  “How the very lights come up in a room, even as you enter?  Have you not heard the city call out to you?”

“Well yeah,” Carrie admitted, suddenly uncomfortable, “but I just figured it was all part of the Atlantis experience.  Like everyone felt it.”

“Well they don’t,” the woman responded definitively.  “You’re special, Carrie.  So much more so then you or they will ever realize, so you must not be afraid.”

“But should I be?"  Carrie asked, the urge to step away resurfacing.  "Afraid, I mean?”

“No.   Atlantis will guide you.  Let the city show you the way then get back to John as fast as you can.  I fear he does not have long now.” 

The woman let Carrie’s hands go and she instantly missed the connection.  Cool night air hit her skin and it still tingled where she had been touched.  Carrie glanced down at her hands, half expecting to see little sparks of electricity traveling up her fingers.

“Who are you?”  She finally asked again, confusion pushing the question up and out of her without warning as she dropped her hands to her sides and looked back up at her unknown visitor.

“I’m a friend,” the woman answered.  “Can that not be enough?” 

It wasn’t, not really, but Carrie got the distinct impression that it was going to have to be.

“Come with me,” she suggested suddenly, not really sure where the sudden urge to keep this woman close to her came from.  “You said you know John, come help me with this and we can save him together.”

This time there really was no mistaking the woman’s smile, even in the dark.

“I can see why he loves you so much,” she said, the stars reflected in her eyes misting over as the woman turned away to look back out over the water.  “When this is all over, you should tell him I told you so." 

"Tell him yourself!  If..." but Carrie's response was interrupted by a noise from out in the hall.  Someone was approaching and the sound of their footsteps reached out even onto the balcony.  Carrie turned around to check who it was, but the doorway and the corridor beyond were still dark.

"Will you do one other thing for me, Carrie Sinclair?"  The woman asked so quietly Carrie nearly missed it.  She flicked her eyes back over to the figure who stood under the mantle of the stars looking like something out of a dream."

"Yes,"  she replied, though the word came out as more of a question than an answer.

"Would you tell him I love him?"

"Who, John?"  Carrie's brow furrowed, but another noise pulled her focus back to the door.  Someone was fiddling with it, about to push out onto the balcony.

"No, not John," the woman said faintly. 

"Then who?"

Whoever was at the door stumbled through it suddenly and yellow light flooded the small balcony where Carrie was standing.  The light from the corridor was bright, brighter than she remembered, and she had to shield her eyes from it as the intensity shot daggers into the spaces behind her eyes.   The light brought with it the sounds of the city again and as if it had always been there, Carrie felt the familiar rumble of Atlantis surge beneath her feet once again.  It was comforting and familiar all at the same time and she turned to get a better look at her visitor.

But the space before the balcony rail was vacant, and Carrie stood staring at it for a moment, blinking stupidly into the emptiness. 

"Ms. Sinclair?  Carrie?"  It was young TJ McKay at her elbow, and he put a hand on her arm.  "Are you alright?"

"W-where did she go?"  Carrie breathed, searching the small space with her eyes again even though she knew she would find nothing. 

"Who ma'am?"

"The woman I was just out here with!" She exclaimed and pointed towards the rail.  When she looked back over at TJ, he was eying her with concern.

"There's no one else out here, ma'am, and I didn't see anyone out in the hall."

Refusing to believe that none of it had been real, Carrie walked back over to the balcony rail and peered out over the edge.  She had chosen the highest floor of a very tall tower and there was no way off that balcony except for the way they'd come in. 

Carrie stood staring down at the star speckled surf for an immeasurable moment, contemplating what had just happened.  Perhaps it _had_ all been a dream.  Atlantis was insistent beneath her feet again, that strange circuit of energy connecting her to all facets of the city back and as strong as ever.  Before, when the woman had come, all had been quiet and still and Carrie couldn't help the faint theories that began to take shape in her brain.

It was the city (it had to have been) showing her the path in the only way it could come up with to get her to listen. 

Another woman who loved John.

As if to give her a sign that she'd lingered too long already, a cold wind rushed up the grey side of the tower and struck her in the face. 

_"I fear he does not have long now."_

They were running out of time.

"Carrie, are you sure you're ok?"  TJ was at her side again and concern colored his voice.

"I'm fine kid," she replied shortly, even though she didn't mean it, and stepped away from the rail.  "What's going on?"

"It's Uncle John.  Pops says you need to come now."

Carrie had never heard TJ refer to John as 'uncle' before and the word punched into her like something hard.  She thought about her own Aunt Eileen then.  The poor woman was probably sick with worry back home and wondering if Carrie were lying dead in a ditch somewhere.  In all the craziness of the past several days she hadn't even thought to check in with her elderly aunt and she hoped Landry had had the good sense to at least send word to her last remaining relative that Carrie was okay.  He might have - he seemed like the kind of person who would remember to do things like that - and she took some comfort in the thought.

Family was important, and as she looked into TJ's desperate and sleep deprived eyes, she knew she was catching a glimpse of one of those unforeseen consequences of John's demise.  Carrie almost wanted to pull the young man into a hug - nearly did for that matter.  He was just 19 years old and already so road weary and it didn't seem fair that he'd been made to endure so much.  Carrie had only been given the Reader's Digest version of it all, snippets from various people over the past few days, but it was enough for her to understand that TJ McKay had already learned enough about loss to last a lifetime. 

And there was still so much left for him to lose, especially if Carrie just stood there.

"Carrie, please, you need to come with me now,”  TJ was pleading.

He tugged at her elbow and Carrie allowed him to pull her back into Atlantis and down the corridor towards a set of steep stairs that would take them back to reality.  But while TJ pulled at her arm, a second force, seemingly coming from within her own body, was willing her back the other way and down a different hall.  It beckoned her towards a hidden transport TJ wouldn’t even know was there.  Hell, she shouldn’t even know it was there, but the woman on the balcony had been right. 

Atlantis was showing her the way.

“I can’t go with you, kid,” a voice that didn't sound much like her own replied, and TJ turned around quickly.

“Whaddya mean you can’t go with me?”  The question came out almost petulant, but Carrie forgave it.

“There’s something I gotta do first.” 

Carrie grabbed the bewildered young man at the shoulders.  “Can you do me a favor, TJ?  Can you go back down there and make sure they don't let him die until I get back?  Could you do that for me?"

Carrie figured if TJ had been anymore rested and alert he probably would have resisted, called the plan crazy even and tried to pull her away, but thankfully he just nodded his head slowly and she squeezed his shoulders again gently.

“Don’t let them give up.”  And turning on her heels, she left a bewildered TJ standing at the top of the stairs.

There was no question in Carrie's mind now of what she needed to do.  That woman, whether real or an apparition conjured by Atlantis, was giving her a chance.  She might not understand it (or even trust it entirely at the moment) but there was no denying that something big was happening here.  She was connected to an ancient city she had no business being connected to.  She'd seen and heard things she never should have been able to, and all of it was leading her to a moment.  It pulled her past rooms that lit up even as she ran.  It lead her beneath corridor lights that pulsed in time with her own heartbeat, and as Atlantis lead her into the very center of the city's ancient heart, she prayed that whatever she found there would be enough to save John Sheppard's life. 

"Hold on, John."  She whispered as the transport doors rolled closed. 

"I'm on my way."

 

 

..

\oO0Oo/

..

 

When John was 9 years old, his father got him a dog.  His mother had died the month before.  John had begun pulling away from the world, and in one last desperate attempt to connect with this eldest son, Patrick Sheppard had bought him a dog.  

Sampson, as John had named him, had been a purebred Golden Retriever and for three and a half blissful years, he was the best friend damn friend John had ever known.  They spent endless summer days playing ball across the perfectly manicured lawns of the family’s estate.  They played hide and seek and their own unique game of tag in the waist high hay fields next to the stables.  John loved Sampson more than anything, and it seemed fitting that the dog should be there with him now, seated at his side and pressed up against his arm as if the past 40 years hadn't even happened. 

Sampson was panting lightly and the heat from his canine body soaked into the side of John’s arm.  They were seated on the very edge of one of Atlantis’s piers, Sampson watching the water below and yelping helpfully every time John's line quivered, and John pretending to actually care if he caught something or not. 

It was a difficult thing to do, though. 

His eyes kept being drawn away from the pole in his hands and back to the face beside him that brought with it so many happy memories, John found it hard to look away.  Sampson’s coat was a rich golden brown and glistened in the high noon sun which sat at the apex of a cloudless sky, warming their shoulders from above.  The dog looked young and spry - a far cry from the last time John had ever seen him – and the memories the canine conjured were precious to him.  Smiling slightly at them, John transferred his pole to the other hand and scratched idly at the soft fur behind Sampson’s ears.  The dog whined lightly then turned his head to deliver a quick lick to the side of John’s face. 

The moment was a perfect recreation of one of those endless summer afternoons and John wondered then why it was he never got another dog when he was living at the cabin in Blue River.  It would have made sense, especially in the early days before Carrie.  A dog would have made those long lonely evenings a little easier to bear, especially those nights when the ghosts of the past haunted him relentlessly. 

But he hadn’t done it, and the reason for that choice came crashing down around him, breaking apart the happy memories he’d managed to hold on to for a moment.

Sampson, like so many other happy things in John Sheppard’s life, hadn’t lasted.  

He got sick. 

Some stupid genetic disorder had decided to rear its ugly head and in a matter of months, his condition had deteriorated so much that even a 12 year old John knew what was coming next.  And so Patrick Sheppard, in his infinite wisdom, had pushed a shotgun into his eldest son’s trembling hands and sent him out back behind the stables to put his own best friend out of his misery.  It sounded cruel when thought about it - and maybe it was - but John doubted his father ever saw it that way.   The loss of his mother had made Patrick Sheppard cold, and John never saw his father the same way again after that day.  He’d done what had been expected of him, but, in the end, it had cemented a kind of bitterness around his heart.  It was that bitterness that had given him the strength to buck his family’s expectations for his future and send him into the arms of the United States Air Force.  He’d carried it around with him all through basic and half his career, and it wasn’t until he saved the life of a certain Air Force Colonel, that it had begun to break apart at all.  Atlantis, the people he had met there, all of it had slowly chipped away at that mangled crust he'd managed to build up around his soul, and he’d never felt more alive than that day when he’d stepped through the Stargate and into an entirely different galaxy. 

And speaking of Atlantis, she rose up behind him out of the Bay like some tall and silent sentinel and John took strength from the fact that she was still there with him.  Like Sampson, Atlantis was a part of who he was and he would sit on her pier and fish over the edge of her for the rest of his days, warmed by the midday sun and the body heat coming off the canine companion at his side. 

After a lifetime of battle, John figured he was owed that much at least.

“Figures you’d bring a fishing pole to a knife fight, Sheppard,” a gruff voice rumbled from behind him, and John smiled in spite of his surprise at no longer being alone. 

“I was wondering when you were going to show up.” 

If the metal beneath them had been manmade, it would have shaken and swayed beneath the massive weight that plopped itself down beside John a moment later, but Atlantis’ pathways were strong and they held true as the new addition to their fishing party settled in and glanced up at the cloudless California sky. 

“Nice place ya got here.” 

The pier they were on, it was more of a place he associated with memories of Rodney, but this slight deviation from the norm was one he could live with.

“Normally I’d offer you a beer, but looks like I’m fresh out.”  Truth was, John wouldn’t have known where to get any beer even if he wanted some.  He had a pretty good idea of _where_ he was, only the rules were still a mystery. 

“Never cared for that stuff anyway," came the lackluster reply from his visitor.  "Always tasted like lukewarm piss, if you ask me.  Now Satedan’s, they knew how to make a good ale.”

“You made me try some once, remember?”  John laughed, wincing a little at the memory even as he chuckled.  “That homemade shit you made nearly took my esophagus along with it.” 

“Not worth it if it doesn’t hurt,” his visitor laughed back and John shook his head with a snort. 

Sampson, unfazed by this new arrival and taking his master’s good mood as a sign it was time for a nap, settled himself down onto the warm metal of the pier.  He rested his chin lightly on John's thigh and in a few moments, had fallen asleep.  John went back to idly petting the canine’s soft fur and, fishing forgotten, stared back out over the water.

“So… I guess this means I’m dead then?”

The figure beside him looked over at him sharply.  "What makes you say that?" 

“Well, it’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”  John forced his sightline away from the rolling surf of the bay and finally over to the figure seated beside him.

He got it then, why he'd filled his life with people like Eddie Nostrand and Sean Fitzpatrick.  They'd reminded him of someone.  A someone who's passing had affected him so much more than he'd ever allowed himself to admit and who was sitting beside him now looking as silent and as solemn as the last time John had ever seen him alive. 

Ronon Dex was ready for battle, though his feet were bare and his weapons were missing.  He was dressed in that same hastily constructed linen shirt he’d always loved, heavy dreadlocks pulled back and away from his face by a length of thin cord.  He still wore his favorite leather cuffs, too.  The same ones he told everyone he'd won from some tribal chieftain, but which John knew actually covered the wounds left behind by one particularly nasty run in with the Wraith.  Hell, he even smelled the same, as weird as that was to admit.  All that seemed to be missing were the holes the Wraith’s blades would have left behind after they’d killed him, but John figured this probably wasn’t the place for things like that.

Still, it didn’t stop distant memories from resurfacing unexpectedly and John tried to push them back down before they could rise up and consume him. 

Only it didn't work. 

They came anyway, lashing at him like the straps of a whip, merciless and cutting through his skin right down to the bone. 

The living walls of a Wraith ship rose up around them, conjured by his own mutinous brain, and instead of the lightly lapping water of the San Francisco bay, John’s fishing line was lost in a sea of dead grey bodies; Ronon and Teyla floating at the epicenter of the colorless pool.  Their hands were reaching for each other, just as they had been when John had come upon them all those years ago.  They were outstretched, as if seeking one another one final time before death came, but dying just before the connection could be made.  If he’d only just made it to that damn room a few minutes earlier, none of it would have happened. 

But he hadn’t made it, had he?  He’d failed them and now that moment was threatening to become his new reality.

A hell, forged even in heaven.

“Hey!”  Ronon called from beside him, one beefy hand on his shoulder all it took to dislodge John from the vision.  “Sheppard!”  The Sateden said again, and John shook his head to try and clear his mind.

“You keep thinking like that, and you'll never get out of here."

"You say that like I actually have a chance," John grumbled, shrugging off his friend's hand.  The memories were still sharp and insistent, but John pushed them back as best he could, sobered by Ronon's words. 

The Sateden refused to look away, but stayed silent for a moment.  When he spoke again, there was something heated in his words.

“There was nothing you could have done for us back then, Sheppard.  I would have thought you’d figured that out after 20 years.”

“Yeah, well, I think you give me too much credit there buddy.”

Ronon raised a brow.  "Doubt it."

There was a quiet fury that had always burned hot at the center of Ronon Dex.  It was a fire that had been fueled by ultimate loss and one that had been smoldering along inside of him ever since the day his entire planet had been destroyed.  It had never taken much to stoke the rage of that fire.  John could remember the countless times he'd watched it explode outward from within his friend when he was provoked. 

When Ronon was angry, you knew it, yet there was no hint of that fire in the man who was sitting beside him now, telling John that none of what had happened was his fault.

"Look," he signed, "maybe there was nothing I could have done but I need to tell you that I'm sorry for it anyway." 

For all John knew the place he was visiting was nothing more than a figment of his own imagination, a place created by his mind to help him work through his unfinished business before death.  Every so often two pinpricks of pain would erupt in his shoulder and gut, reminding him of the reality he had fled.  Now he was getting a chance to say all those things that had gone unsaid between him and the massive Sateden beside him, and he wasn't about to waste it.

"There's nothing you could have done, Sheppard."  Ronan repeated, but John didn't believe him.

Because there was.

He'd replayed that day over and over again in his mind for the past 20 years: the constant game of cat and mouse he'd played with the patrols of Wraith searching for him; the countless bodies he'd littered the corridor floors with; the acrid smell of spent energy weapons filling the air as he neared the sounds of battle. 

But he'd stopped. 

God forgive him, John had stopped, and as if someone had flipped a switch, he found himself pressed against the living wall of the Super Hive, a ball of blue light careening past his face and exploding the slimy wall beside his head.

John ducked as another energy blast missed him by mere inches and let loose a barrage of bullets that crumpled his Wraith attackers to the floor one by one.  The firefight was brief, but intense, and when it was all over, he eyed the pile of dead bodies warily, remembering the Wraith's affinity for reanimating at the most inopportune times to try and take him out a second time.  But the bodies at the end of the hall remained still and John stood panting against the living wall, trying to get his bearings. 

Atlantis and the pier were gone, replaced instead by the damp darkness of the Wraith ship he'd hoped to never see again.  Pulling himself away from the wall, his body squelched, the viscous slime refusing to release him without a fight.  Wraith ships had always disgusted him.  He couldn't understand how a race so advanced as the Wraith could live in such conditions, their homes little more than industrial strength storage containers for fresh food.  Everything was organic and pulsed around him as if he were Jonah in the belly of the whale rather than John Sheppard trying to find a way out of the nightmare he'd suddenly found himself in.

Ignoring the cool slime coating his neck and back, John stepped away from the wall and looked around.  There was no sign of Sampson or of Ronon, though somewhere far off he could hear the distant sounds of battle.  Judging by the direction it was coming from, John knew exactly who was fighting, and took off at a run towards the sound. 

At first he tried to tell himself that he was being given a second chance.  That this new element to his dream was an opportunity for him to right a wrong so long ago committed, but as he ran down the corridor, he knew that wasn't the case. 

The corridor John was traveling down was changing.  He'd come to one of the areas where the Wraith kept their pray and he remembered then why he'd been too late to the fight.  Even as he sprinted, trying to ignore them this time, he could still make out the shadowy silhouettes of the bodies bound within their cocoons; those wretched souls lost in the emptiness of suspended animation until some Wraith decided it needed to feed. 

All those years ago, John had paused before those nearly opaque barriers, his own face looking out at him from inside as he contemplated releasing every last one of them.  Being captured by the Wraith, it was a fate worse than death in his eyes, but he hadn't done it.   He'd left them behind to die in whatever peaceful worlds their minds had created to deal with their imprisonment because there just wasn't enough time.  He'd left them there, and that betrayal had only managed to compound his later grief over what had happened later in the skies above Earth.

And now he was being given a choice.  Save them this time or rush on towards Ronon and Teyla and hope that his hesitation wasn't enough to get them killed all over again.

These were the choices that had always torn John Sheppard apart.  His mind reminded him of the charges set to go off at any given moment but his heart tugged him in another direction, willing him to waste this chance he'd been given to save Ronan and Teyla to free the trapped souls before him.  He wasn't even sure the blast would come, reality not necessarily a sure thing wherever he was at the moment, but his subconscious seemed to be offering him some sort of closure.  Something in his gut was telling him that, if he stopped... if he took the time to free these people, then everything would be okay and all of it would work out the way it should have all those years ago.

Halting his progress down the hall, John turned to the first cocoon he came to and used the still hot barrel of his gun to slice through the webbing.  It was a woman bound within and as she collapsed into his arm, unconscious, John realized he knew her.

"Jeannie?"  He stammered, confused.  She wasn't part of this memory... but this wasn't exactly what he'd done all those years ago either, so it looked as though all bets were off.

Rodney's sister fell forward and he lowered her carefully to the floor.  If Jeannie was there then there was a good chance Madison was as well and John stood up to search for her in the surrounding spaces.  He looked for anything that might suggest a child, but his search was interrupted a second later by a noise from down the hall.  John turned with gun raised, but the Wraith were already on top of him and two balls of blue light were headed straight for his chest.  He dove, the hard floor of the corridor knocking the wind out of him, but it had been enough.  The shots exploded uselessly in the space Jeannie had just been in and John jumped to his feet. 

But the Wraith weren't finished.  Another blast came out of nowhere and while John was able to sidestep it for the most part, the stunner still managed to clip his arm and he called out in surprise.  The arm went numb almost instantly, but the hit hadn't been enough to take him out, though his P90 fell from his useless hand to dangle from its strap at his side.

"Shit!"

There was nothing to do but run. He couldn't shoot and, cradling his numb hand to his chest, he did the only thing he could do.  John bolted and threw himself around the next corner just as the Wraith began shooting at him blindly.  He needed to get out of there, but John found himself hesitating for a moment longer.  Jeannie was still lying on the corridor floor, but John had no idea what would happen to him here if the Wraith got their hands on him.  He couldn't risk going back and, sending up a silent plea for forgiveness from those he left behind, John continued on through the corridors and towards the room where he knew he'd find Ronon and Teyla.

This wasn't how it was supposed to happen.  These moments before death were supposed to be about redemption and saying goodbye and making peace with what had happened in the past, not failing spectacularly at trying to change it all.  His rescue attempt in the corridor had been a joke and now he knew exactly what he would find when he rounded the next corner and came upon that room.

And he'd he just been right.

“Teyla…”  

The name left his parted lips on barely enough breath to give it life.   It took form and substance as it spilled from his mouth, a million memories giving it a mournful shape.  For twenty years he'd been recreating this moment over and over again in his mind, but this was not just some distant memory playing out in again in his thoughts.  This was as real and as devastating as the day he'd lived it. 

Teyla was lying on her back and the unmistakable smell of blood invaded John's nose.  The unseeing pools of her eyes stared up at him from the floor and John had seen enough of war to remember what that unnatural angle to her neck meant.  He’d walked past enough of his fallen brethren to understand that it was a scream her mouth was still contorted around.   Blood dripped from the mangled remains of the arm twisted up behind her head, the one not reaching out for Ronon.  Crimson painted rivers along her skin and the red dripped down to the floor to mingle in with the grayish blue hue of the dead Wraith beneath her. 

"I'm sorry..." John choked, fighting against the urge to fall to his knees and weep.  "Teyla..." 

But there would be no time for that.  John could already hear the advancing party of Wraith growing near.  There was the group of them that had been tailing him, but there was another party approaching from a different direction.  It was the one that had managed to drive him out of this room so many years ago and back to Atlantis before he could pull out the bodies of his friends and take them home with him.  For a moment John toyed with the idea of just finding a place to hide to wait out the eventual destruction he knew he was coming.  Maybe that would end all this.  If he just let himself get blown sky high, his cells scattered across the galaxy like theirs had been, maybe then he could finally rest and forget it all.  Forget hesitating in the hall, forget finding Teyla and Ronon's murdered bodies, forget destroying two billion lives. 

Maybe that was the key to all this: just laying down his life and accepting his inevitable end.  Whether by the Wraith, Richard Woolsey's hand or by Sean Fitzpatrick's, John Sheppard was going to die.

John flexed his numb hand, urging the feeling to return.

Would it be painful to die in a place like this?  Would it even work?  Could he let himself be blown up like that on the off chance that it would bring about the end to all of this?

But that was the real question, wasn't it.

...Could he? 

Could he just give up like that when all his life he'd been fighting to try and make it right.  Death didn't feel like the answer.  It was too final, too... cowardly.

The word sat heavy and bitter on his tongue.  John Sheppard had been a good many things in his life, but a coward had never been one of them.  Yes, he'd left after what had happened with the Wraith ships, but it hadn't been because he was afraid.  He'd left because he'd had no other choice but now he did have a choice...

To live or to die.

Simple enough, right?  And yet it sat before him like some impossible riddle he wasn't sure what to do with.

John's sightline dropped back down to Teyla's unseeing eyes and for a moment, he remembered...

_"How long will the surgery take?"_

_"Doc says a few hours. I'll be off my feet for a week or so."_

_Teyla shook her head.  "I cannot believe you attempted to mount a rescue in your condition."_

_"Attempt?! The last time I checked, I succeeded...  How's the kid?"_

_"Doctor Keller says he's perfectly healthy... I say he's perfectly everything."_

_"That's great."_

_"John, I want to thank you."_

_"There's no need."_

_"I never gave up hope because I knew.  I knew that you would come for me, John."_

_"You would have done the same for me."_

_"Yes."_

_"...So what are you going to name the kid?"_

_"Well, if it's alright with you, I was thinking of Torren John, after my father_

_...and after you."_

John had expected the sudden memory to fill him with regret at having failed Teyla yet again, but it was her son's name that dug its claws into him and refused to let go. 

Rodney had raised Torren John as his own and for a moment John let his thoughts settle on the few memories he had of the kid. 

If John died here, then TJ's hopes at returning to Pegasus would be crushed.  There was no one else out there who could fly Atlantis home and if John gave up now, if he let those Wraith come and mow him down, then he would not only be ruining his own life, but that of Teyla's son as well. 

For a fraction of a second John had a picture in his mind of a young man leaning over a still figure in a bed, pleading desperately for a life he'd always deserved.  It was intense and John stumbled under the surprise of it.

TJ... Carrie... they were his real unfinished business, and to give up on them now would be the true act of failure, not botching an imaginary 2nd attempt at stopping a tragedy that had already happened.

"Okay, Ronon!"  John called out. 

Sometime during his internal struggle the carnage in the room had disappeared, but John could still hear the advancing Wraith. 

"I get it now, buddy, and I'm not ready to give up just yet."

He waited for the Hive to disappear around him and the sunny Atlantis pier to reappear, but nothing happened.

"Ronon?"  He tried again, but the only answer he got was the swarming mass of Wraith that rounded the corner next, firing off their weapons from every direction around him and the sudden uptick of his heartbeat in his chest.

He'd waited too long.

 

..

\oO0Oo/

..

 

Rodney McKay ran his hands through his aggressively thinning hair and continued to pace the line he'd steadily been carving into the floor for the past few minutes.  He wasn't used to this... being on the sidelines with nothing to contribute, while others took the lead.  For ten entire minutes they'd been trying to stabilize John and now Rodney was hearing words like " surgery" and "he'd never survive another round" pop out over the din of voices. 

Rodney McKay was out of options.  They'd all of them sat in the infirmary pounding out ideas of what they could do for John until all of it had run together - a sorry mash up of desperation and failed ingenuity. 

He'd been given a problem he couldn't solve, and it was driving him mad.  

Rodney knew it wasn't logical to think that way.  There were other variables at work here besides his own ineptitude.  For one, he had no control over the fact that none of their off-world allies  were coming to help... but those cold hard facts weren't as comforting as they usually were.  Normally, he could accept a failure if there were elements of it that had been beyond his control... but he wouldn't be able to do that this time.  If John died, he would shoulder that blame himself, not try to foist it off onto others like the Rodney McKay of old.

Casting his eyes to the infirmary entrance (which was now clearly visible since the curtains had been thrown back) Rodney searched for his son and for Carrie.  They were running out of time.  Rodney could feel the finality of that fact taking root around him, and he pleaded with them to hurry.  He knew firsthand what it was like to lose someone without ever having gotten to say goodbye, and he would spare his son and John's girlfriend that misery if he could. 

Watching for signs of their arrival gave him a moment to ignore what was going on mere feet from where he stood, though the noise was impossible to block out.  Alarms and shouts echoed around in his brain until the cacophony was so loud, he nearly raised his palms to clamp them down over his ears.  

Then finally, mercifully, TJ's form darkened the doorway a moment later, but Carrie wasn't with him.

"Where is she?"  Rodney panted as he closed the gap between him and his son with a quick sprint across the empty infirmary floor.

"She wouldn't come with me," TJ replied a little manically.  "She kept saying she had something else to do first."

"Something else to do?"  Rodney repeated incredulously.  "Did you explain to her what was happening?"

"I tried to Pops, but she just grabbed my shoulders and told me to go on without her.  Told me I had to warn you not to let him die until she got back."

"Well did she say where she was headed?"

TJ shook his head.  "She just took off in the other direction."

"Where'd you end up finding her?"  They were walking back to the huddled mass surrounding John and Rodney had to lean in to hear TJ over the noise.

"Tower 9.  I was taking us down the stairs but she went somewhere else on the top floor." Rodney nodded absently and searched his memory banks, pulling up fully formed images of the tower to the forefront of his mind.  He couldn't remember any transports up in that area of the city, but that didn't mean they weren't there.  Question was, how would Carrie Sinclair know they were?

"Pops?"  TJ was still at his elbow and Rodney ignored him for a moment. 

"Pops!" he said a little more forcefully, and this time Rodney looked up. 

TJ's face had gone white as a sheet and Rodney forced his head around to zero in on Dr. Roth, the man who had taken over John's care ever since Carson had become incapacitated.   The doctor had ordered all efforts around John to cease and ten pairs of eyes were all glued to the state-of-the-art monitor broadcasting John's vitals out into the room.

The line on the screen was flat and was accompanied by a thin, mournful wail of alarm that sliced through Rodney worse than any blade ever could.  He could feel the city rumble beneath his feet and the connection he shared with Atlantis crackled to life so suddenly. he nearly collapsed into TJ.  His son grabbed hold of him around the middle and called out his name again.

"Pops, they can't give up yet!"

TJ was right. 

Rodney could see Dr. Roth preparing to call time of death.  He could sense Carson about to pass out from the realization that they'd just lost John Sheppard to something as stupid as a bullet hole.  He saw it all, and he couldn't let it happen.

"Keep trying, goddamn you!"  He bellowed, pushing away from TJ to stand at the rear of the group and stare Dr. Roth down before he could utter his order. 

"Keep trying, or I swear to GOD, I will have your balls in a pietrie dish Roth!"

The doctor looked stunned for a moment, then as if he were about to argue, but Rodney put a finger in the air and for some reason the dumb warning worked.  Resistance gave way to determination and, calling for more drugs, the medical team set back into trying to save John Sheppard's life.  Rodney knew it was futile, that he was buying Carrie mere moments at best, but at least it was something.

And Roth was apparently not the only one spurred into action by Rodney's refusal to let any of them  give up on John just yet.  Carson, looking white as a sheet and unsteady on his feet, was shuffling over to where Rodney and TJ now stood, clutching at his IV stand for support.  TJ was at his side immediately and helped the ageing physician over to where they could all see better.  There was only one other person unaccounted for and Rodney put a finger to the device in his ear.

"Evan Lorne, you get your ass back in here now!" 

He knew Lorne would have his earwig in.  He knew the Colonel had been getting regular updates about what was going on with John and that someone would have told him what was transpiring in the infirmary right at that moment.  But the interim leader of Atlantis was still MIA and Rodney thought he could understand why. 

Powerlessness was not something Evan Lorne had ever been good with, and this was the most helpless situation of all.  Losing John the first time had been difficult for them all, but losing him the second?  That would be the most devastating of all.

Something bitter and warm flooded the back of Rodney's throat, and he reached an arm out to wrap it around TJs shoulders and capture a fistful of Carson's hospital gown in his hand.  He needed purchase, something to help keep him anchored to the earth again because John's gravity was rearing its head again, pulling him in and refusing to let him go.  It linked them all, inching them forward until they created a cocoon around John that not even death could possibly penetrate.

But wasn't that just the ultimate illusion?  The ultimate hubris to think that their linked little lives could ever hold something so absolute as Death at bay?  They'd been trying for years, ego and pride driving them forward relentlessly, but the fact of the matter remained:  People died, and John Sheppard would not be excused from that, no matter how important he was or how much everyone loved him.

Rodney closed his eyes and warm moisture rolled from his lids and cascaded down the sides of his face.  He couldn't remember the last time that he'd cried.  He thought it might have been the day his divorce had been finalized, but he couldn't really be sure.  And even then it wasn't like this.  These tears were different and they burned trenches down his cheeks that stung as they went.

He pulled Carson and TJ in closer, steeling himself for what came next, and prayed he had enough strength left to get them all through it.

"ENOUGH!"  A voice finally bellowed from behind them, and all the eyes that had been so intensely focused on John's vitals turned in the direction of that demand.

Carrie Sinclair, looking wild eyed and disheveled, stood on the periphery of the group, panting slightly.  She moved forward, clearing a path with the force of the shockwave she sent out ahead of her.  Everyone was quick to back away and Rodney realized with astonishment that the woman's skin had begun to glow.  She walked forward with purpose and didn't stop until she was standing just beside John's bed, the weak beats of his barely sustained heartbeat pulsing the air around them all 

"Not yet, Johnny boy," Rodney thought he heard her whisper.  "Come back to me now, love."

Rodney didn't know what he'd been expecting to see, but it certainly wasn't to watch the bedrails lower of their own volition or to witness that glow to Carrie Sinclair's skin intensify.  But both happened and he watched as she extended her hands out over John and placed them firmly on either side of his heart. 

At first all remained silent, everyone in the room either too stunned or too scared to do anything, and it was in that frozen silence that Rodney began to feel the pull. 

It was small at first, barely there and merely a tugging at his middle.  It was the same feeling he got when he sat down to do work at one of Atlantis' terminals.  The same one that overcame him when he prepared a jumper for flight.  It was the call of the city to the ATA gene in his blood, and knew in a moment what he needed to do.

...What Carrie and Atlantis were asking of him.

Without thought or sound, both Rodney and Carson stepped forward at the same time, leaving a bewildered TJ behind as they joined Carrie near the edge of John's bed.  Rodney reached for an ankle, Carson took hold of one of John's hands, and in an instant they were joined by three other people from the crowd: an orderly and two nurses.  They were three people Rodney would never have guessed carried the gene and, judging by the shocked look on their faces, neither did they, but there was no denying that they were being called as well.

Something immense was happening, and it was only getting bigger.  Rodney could feel Atlantis' call go out to the entire city and could sense as each ATA gene carrier heard the call and began to head in their direction.  It was good that they were coming, too because Rodney could also sense that the six of them were not yet enough to do what was required to save John.  There was a piece missing and until that void was filled, the process would never be complete.  His own gene was too weak, too manmade, to give them boost they needed and he despaired that weakness for a moment.   That was until someone else arrived and a final hand clamped down over one of John's knees, completing the circuit.

Even though there were others helping, Rodney could sense the connection that formed at once between himself, Carson, Carrie and the recently arrived Evan Lorne.  He could feel something being drawn out of each of them and he looked down at his arm, convinced he could see little bands of white light cascading down his skin to disappear into the still figure beneath their hands. 

There was some kind of transfer going on and Rodney closed his eyes as it happened, willingly offering up what Atlantis might need to make this all right and bring John back from the dead. 

Immeasurable moments passed, but time had no meaning in the tight bond their joined forces has created.    For the first time in 20 years, Rodney McKay felt something like hope wrap itself around his frame and actually stay for once.  They'd been fighting so hard and for so long against dark forces that had always managed to win, but in that moment, Rodney was convinced that for once the light would prevail.  It was white and intense and it ignited behind his still closed eyes, promising not to fail him again.  It grew and it sparked between them all until the place where Rodney's hand touched John burned hot and a massive surge of energy sent him backpedaling a few steps in shock.

And it wasn't just him.  When Rodney opened his eyes again, everyone had stepped back a few feet and several wisps of smoke dissolving into the air were all that remained of the energy that had passed through them all.

Something was altered inside of him - Rodney could tell almost instantly - and it took him a moment to realize what it was. 

Atlantis was quiet around him. 

The connections and rumbles he'd felt for years were no longer there, and he understood it then.   The city of the Ancients would no longer light up for him as it once had.  He would no longer be able to sit in the cockpit of a puddle jumper and make it fly.  Atlantis had demanded something from him after all, and he would gladly give it a hundred times over, if it meant his friend would live.

But Rodney couldn't bring himself to check if that had, in fact, happened. 

He cast his eyes around the stunned group gathered around John's bed instead, looking for some sign of success in their eyes.  Carson's face was blank and he was staring down at John with something unreadable behind his eyes.  Lorne looked just as stunned, but it was Carrie he worried for next.  She swooned unexpectedly, letting out a small gasp that finally broke the spell holding them all in place, and Lorne managed to catch in his arms before she fell.  He carried her away quickly and Rodney knew he could no longer stave off the inevitable.

He forced his sightline back down to the man on the bed before him and tried not to cry out over what he saw there.


	25. An Elusive and Precious Thing

It didn't happen with a burst of bright light. There wasn't a warning sign or a surge of energy to give her any indication that it would happen. Carrie Sinclair was simply reaching out to place her hands on John in the Infirmary one moment, then was dumped, unceremoniously, into the middle of a large darkened room the next.

The floor that surged up to meet her was warm and damp. She scrambled up to her feet as fast as she could, unnerved by the sudden and unexpected change in her scenery. Whatever she'd been expecting to happen after she'd touched the unknown Lantian device, this certainly wasn't it, and she searched her surroundings for some sign of the familiar. But all she could see in every direction was blackness, and her growing fear was only making it worse.

The room Carrie was in felt cavernous. The darkness pushed in on her, but she could also sense space and emptiness surrounding her. The very air was a moist, soupy mess and it clung to her skin and dampened her hair. There was a pungent, decaying smell to the place as well, and she had to cover her mouth and nose with a shirtsleeve just to keep from gagging on it. The whole thing reminded her of an old childhood memory... of one impossibly warm and humid summer day when she'd somehow managed to get herself locked in Aunt Eileen's greenhouse out behind the thrift shop. This was that same cloying dampness, that same aggressive process that both drenched her in wet and sucked the moisture from her very cells all at the exact same time.

Pushing the unwanted feeling away, Carrie forced herself to calm down a little and pay more attention to her surroundings. As her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, she realized it wasn't quite as impenetrable as she'd originally thought, and she could just about make out the edges of the place. There was a wall, far off to her right, that was seemingly giving off a faint, almost otherworldly glow, and she headed off in that direction, approaching the light cautiously. The illumination seemed to be coming from within the very wall itself, and she took a step in closer to investigate, stumbling back a moment later in disgust.

The wall seemed almost alive. It pulsed and oozed with ropey bits of slime and for the second time in as many minutes, she fought against her gag reflex. It was absolutely disgusting and she knew she needed to get out of there, quick. Turning away from the grotesque scene before her Carrie peered back out into the murkiness, but couldn't find what she was looking for. Everything around her was too dark, the faint lights in the walls not enough to penetrate the grasping darkness around her.

Panic began to take shape in the back of her throat. It constricted her airway and she swallowed around it reflexively. How the hell was she supposed to get out of here if she couldn't even see?

Closing her eyes for a moment, Carrie forced herself to focus. There had been no instruction manual to the device she'd used. She had no idea what she'd just gotten herself into, but the woman she'd met on the balcony hadn't mentioned any dangers. So that meant there was a good chance she could find her way back to Atlantis if she just stopped worrying like a scared little girl and started looking at this like the rational adult she was.

Squaring her shoulders in determination, Carrie opened her eyes again and forced herself to search the murkiness, only this time she went slowly. There had to be a way out, and a moment later, she found it. Far off, nearly on the other side of the room from where she now stood, Carrie could make out a faint, flickering blue light. Taking off towards it, she rounded a opening in the wall and came face to face with something she did not expect.

In the direct center of the new room she'd found, stood a massive stone ring. Its grey face was covered in ancient symbols that glowed bright, even in the murk, but that wasn't what had grabbed her attention. In the middle of the ring was a field of undulating blue that looked like water yet felt like raw energy. It electrified everything in the room, and kneeling right in front of it, dressed in the gear of a solider with machine gun held tight at his side, was John.

Carrie's heart replaced the panic in the back of her throat in an instant and she nearly ran to him. His name was on her lips, but something held her back.

The room she was in, it wasn't empty, not like the one she'd just left. This one held countless bodies, each of them crumpled to the floor and riddled with bullet holes. The corpses she was looking at were unlike any she'd ever seen before. Their skin was grayish blue in color and she stared down at them as she made her way forward carefully. The ones who didn't wear masks had strange faces with translucent fangs they barred even in death. They were terrifying just to look at and Carrie had a feeling she was finally getting her first look at the Wraith.

So this is what they looked like, those terrible beings that had come to earth so many years ago and torn the world apart. These were the faces of the unknown enemy the civilians of earth had only been given vague descriptions of. She'd never imagined in a million years she'd actually get see one up close and Carrie had to resist the urge to spit on them as she picked her way through their carnage. The people of Earth had suffered so much at the hands of these monsters, but to think that they might actually _be_ monsters had never occurred to her.

But there would be plenty of time to think back on her chance encounter with the race that had changed the course of human history, later. Carrie only had eyes for John now who hadn't moved from his place on the floor near the flickering stone ring she could only assume was a Stargate.

Carrie's knowledge of Stargates was like everything else: a hastily constructed conglomeration of all the brief explanations she'd been given by various people over the past several days. It was a mesmerizing thing to behold and for a moment, Carrie didn't know whether she should grab John by the armpits and drag him through it, or worry that it held some greater threat. John was staring up at it silently and she approached him cautiously, trying not to startle him.

As Carrie neared the gate, John became nothing more than a dark silhouette painted against the backdrop of the strange blue force field. She could tell he was shaking. The blurry outline of his figure quaked and something inside of her yearned to reach out and touch him.

On either side of him lay a body, but these individuals clearly were not Wraith. They were human, one male, the other a woman, though it was only the man's face she could see. His eyes were open and staring up at nothing and Carrie knew for a fact that he was dead. She'd seen a stare like that before, many in fact, though that didn't make it any easier to witness again.

From the looks of things, John had somehow managed to drag these two poor souls into the room with him while still managing to take out an entire contingency of Wraith. It was almost as if he were waiting for something now, though Carrie didn't have the faintest idea of what it could be.

"John?"

She tried to say his name quietly, lest she startle him and earn the ire of the gun he held at his side. When he didn't move she tried again, louder this time.

"John."

He turned his head at that and what she saw race across his features, nearly broke her heart.

John's face was smattered in a strange mixture of blue and red blood. As soon as he realized who she was he began trying to pull himself up from off the floor, only he was too weak to do it. He collapsed back down a moment later with a pitiful moan and Carrie was on her knees at his side in an instant, something warm wicking up into the knees of her jeans. She realized with a small gasp that John was leaking copious amounts of blood from two gunshot wounds to the chest and that a small pool of it had formed beneath him. She wrapped her arms around the solidness of him, choked by the emotion of finding him alive and the shock of his current state, and John tried to push her away.

"You can't be here!" He moaned pitifully, his hands leaving behind dark smudge marks on her light clothing as he continued to try and push her off. "You can't be here, Carrie. Run. Run!"

Carrie didn't know what to do. This wasn't exactly the reunion she'd been expecting. Hell, this wasn't the version of John Sheppard she'd thought she'd find here.

Ever since the day they'd first met, John had exuded this kind of strength. It was something she'd assumed would always just be there, ingrained in the very fabric of his being. Even on those bad days in Blue River when he'd let small things about his past slip out (which was rarely) that strength still managed to shine through, but now it was non-existent.

He lay broken and trembling in the space of her arms and Carrie had no idea how to help him.

John had demons, Carrie knew that. She'd seen the aftermath of them first hand, in fact. She'd been the one there for the nightmares that pulled him from sleep so violently he cried out at times. She was the one who'd nursed him through the debilitating headaches that usually followed the worst of the attacks. She knew he'd gone through hell, but she'd never, ever, imagined that it could be as horrible as this.

These rooms had been real for him once. John had lived through the moments Carrie had just waded through and she could tell, right then and there, that she would let him go if it came right down to that. He'd been through so much already, and making him come back, it seemed selfish and wrong anymore.

So she would do it.

She would say her goodbyes and let him go, but only once she reminded him that his life had not only been darkness and doom.

There had been light in it as well.

And love.

And friendship.

...and a city called Atlantis that was so much more than just an intergalactic spacecraft.

"It's alright, John," Carrie found herself whispering into the damp hair tucked beneath her chin. John no longer had the strength to continue his efforts at pushing her away and his head had fallen forward so that it rested lightly against the flesh of her neck. Blue and white light from the Stargate before them danced along the flagstones of the floor and Carrie just held him for a moment. She wanted to tear off the military gear that separated her warmth from his, desperate to feel only him against her once more, but couldn't bring herself to do it. He felt so fragile, quaking like a leaf and mumbling words into the skin of her throat.

"You have to run. They'll come back. They always come back. Run... run... run..."

The begging was so mournful that Carrie felt tears well up in her eyes. She realized then that she was woefully unprepared for what needed to be done here. In the space of a moment she'd convinced herself that she would get John to remember all the good he'd done in his life, only she didn't know enough about him or his past to do it. Rodney McKay or Carson Beckett, now they were the ones who should have been here with him at the end, not her, and for a second, Carrie panicked.

This world she'd suddenly found herself in was so foreign and so surreal. It was taking all within her not to buckle under the weight of just knowing it existed, and now here she was, trying to save the love of her life from the dangers it posed. And John _was_ dying. She could feel the life draining from him even as she held him against her and she knew she was running out of time.

But this couldn't be the way it all ended, could it? Atlantis.. her visitor on the balcony... they had both promised a way of getting John through this. But now that she was here, now that she'd seen the state he was in and how very close he was to loosing whatever battle had raged here before she'd arrived, she just couldn't see a way out.

She was too late to try and save him and she tried not to fall apart as that realization washed over her.

Carrie ran a hand through John's sweat soaked hair and hushed him with a kiss to his temple.

"It's alright, love. I'm here."

Even if she couldn't save him or offer him up memories of the things that had given his life meaning, as least she could give him herself. So she pulled him in as tightly as she could, ignoring the bits of his uniform that dug into her skin, and held on for dear life.

"I love you," she whispered into the dark and closed her eyes as the tears finally released from her lids and rolled.

John was barely conscious now, his breath on her neck the only indication he still lived. They were pressed so close together it was difficult to tell where John ended and Carrie began. If the universe was going to insist on taking John Sheppard back into its embrace, then Carrie was going to make sure he went out on her terms.

"I know this feels like it's real, but it isn't, John," she soothed, letting the words flow without much thought. "You didn't die on this ship. You made it out, John. You made it out."

John's breathing slowed.

"You're a good man. You did amazing things. Remember those things, John. Hold tight to them and never let them go."

He shuddered in her arms.

"Remember how much we all loved you. Nothing is stronger than that.

...nothing."

The puffs of air on her skin ceased.

Carrie pulled the still body in her arms closer still, and rocked with the force of her sobs.

He was gone.

A hollow spot opened up at her center as if his passing had physically pulled something out from inside of her. The empty place it created ached uncontrollably and she knew she would never again find anything that would make her truly whole again. She would exist now as half a person, the better part of herself off in whatever place people went to after they died.

"John," she choked one final time... and then it happened.

It started as a warmth that began at her center and slowly rolled out into her arms. It was a peaceful, caressing sensation and she tried to let it push away the grief that surrounded her so completely now.

At first she wondered if it was just the heat from a fresh wave of John's blood, something expelled by the last ragged beats of his heart, but as she looked down at her skin, she found that wasn't the case. A faint glow had begun to illuminate her arms from within, and she worried for a moment that the Wraith ship was somehow effecting her. But the warmth was too calming... too _wholesome_ to be something of the Wraith's making. Everything it touched seemed to lighten somehow and as that power slowly worked its way out into John, things began to change.

It was subtle at first, barely noticeable. The shuddering of his shoulders came back and he drew in ragged, lungful of air which he expelled roughly against her skin. He started to shift slightly in her arms again, only this time it wasn't the agitated movements of a dying man. It was as if the light were feeding him energy somehow, pulling him back from the brink until he reached out a hand to grip her forearm tightly. She felt it all happen, barely daring to breathe lest she disturb whatever power was working its magic on the man in her arms and was speechless when John sat up, actually frickin' sat up. This time when he moved away from her, she didn't stop him. She let him go but captured his face in her hands when those penetrating blue eyes she never thought she'd see again met hers.

"John?"

Light still pulsed along the connection her hands made with his skin, but even as it worked, she could tell immediately that something wasn't quite right.

"Carrie..." he choked back, but his eyes darkened and they darted around the room in a panic.

She was losing him again. Whatever was happening with her hands, it wasn't strong enough yet.

"No no no no, John! Come on, stay with me!"

The light was leaving his eyes. She could see it draining away as he began to break apart again right in front of her. She pleaded for the power to stop it from happening, and this time, the prayer was answered.

This time there really was a flash of light and a surge of pure energy.

Something physically snapped into place around them and Carrie's palms exploded in a blinding flash of white hot light. She somehow managed to find his eyes again in the brilliance and he was back, looking at her with with surprise and her name forming on his lips. She smiled, wanting nothing more than to draw those lips into a kiss, but something was pulling her away. The tether that had kept her bound to reality was flinging her back towards the present. It happened so quickly that the connection she'd felt with John seemed to rip apart and she stumbled backwards a few feet in shock when she found herself suddenly deposited back under the dazzling light of the Atlantis Infirmary.

The energy that had been coercing through her body stilled in an instant. There was a faint smell of ozone in the air and several people were staring at her like she'd just performed some death defying feat on the trapeze.

But she had no time for them.

She made herself look down at John, even though she was terrified of what she might find there when she did.

But John's eyes were open, and Carrie nearly collapsed in on herself.

His eyes were open and when he blinked and looked over at her, the very earth stood still.

She'd done it... she saved him.

The moment and the realization of what she'd just done was so overwhelming that black spots began to invade her field of vision. A moment later, Carrie lost the battle with consciousness, and slipped into a darkness that carried her away almost instantly.

..

\oO0Oo/

..

It was a strange thing, coming back from the dead. It was a little like floating and a lot like trying to get into an unsteady boat from a stationary dock. He flitted in an out of consciousness for a time and his lucid moments were always brief, though he did manage to retain bits of them from time to time. He could remember choking around some invasive object stuck in his throat. He could recall hearing Rodney and Carson call out to him and had vague memories of Carrie capturing his face with her hands. But most of it was just a rolling jumble of muddled chaos inside his head and one he just couldn't make sense of quite yet.

John existed in that strange, in-between world for a long time trying to find the scattered pieces of himself and to form them back into consciousness and coherent thought. He'd gone through the process before, but this time it felt bigger, like he'd taken a larger step up to that serrated edge of oblivion than he had any other time before.

It took everything he had to pull himself out of it, but eventually he did, and John awoke to a sun drenched room that felt familiar.

Dust moats played in the slats of sunlight making their way into the room through the blinds on the window. Something was attached to his face and tickling his nose, but it was the thirst that assaulted him first. His mouth was bone dry and his arid tongue did little to sooth the parched skin of his lips as he ran it over them. Someone shifted in a chair beside him and a moment later, a coolness touched his skin and delicious water trickled over his lips and down into his throat. He sucked the ice chip in greedily and when he opened his eyes again, someone was standing over him.

"R'dney?"

"Welcome back, John," the scientist said with a wide grin, and John tried to offer one back. He had a feeling it came out as more of a wince, but Rodney wasn't paying attention to him anymore. He was too busy pulling a chair over to the side of the bed so he could sit and face John.

"What happened?" John tried to ask next, but the words came out as little more than a whisper.

Rodney had a cup in his hands and for a moment John hoped he was about to get a sip of water, but it ended up being just another ice chip. He took it, albeit begrudgingly, and angrily darted his eyes back and forth between Rodney and the cup.

"Just ice for now," Rodney replied sympathetically, seeming to understand what it was John was trying to say. "Dr. Beckett's orders."

He started to argue, but what Rodney had just said stopped him short.

"He's alive?" John forced out and Rodney smiled again.

"He's alive John. Alive and well and giving the infirmary staff a run for their money. I swear, he's even worse than you usually are."

John cocked an offended brow at that.

"Well it's true!"

"What happened to me, Rodney?" The ice was helping and the words came out a bit clearer.

Rodney sighed and dug the spoon he'd been using to feed John the ice back down into the cup.

"Where do I even start..." the way the scientist said it had John worried for a moment.

"The beginning?" His pathetic attempt at humor worked and Rodney cracked another smile.

"What do you remember?"

John thought back to those last desperate moments in the cabin. They blazed across his mind like the flash of a muzzle. "Fitzpatrick shot me."

"Twice, actually," Rodney added, "and one of them nearly hit your heart."

John looked down at his chest but the god-awful gown he was dressed in was covering whatever mark Sean Fitzpatrick might have left behind.

"Oh I wouldn't worry about any scaring," Rodney said conspiratorially from beside him and John looked back over at his friend in confusion. "You're girlfriend somehow managed to find herself an Ancient device and healed you."

John's eyes widened in shock. "She _healed_ me? Carrie?"

"Yep," Rodney replied with grim smile, "Scars and all, though it took a while, and Carson says you're still not out out of the woods completely."

"How long was I out?" John shifted on the bed and his muscles protested. He'd definitely been lying there for longer than he would have liked.

"All and all, you've been unconscious for three weeks."

" _Three weeks_?" John's eyebrows shot up into his hairline. It couldn't be. It felt as though the events in the cabin had happened only yesterday, but he didn't have time to focus on that just yet.

"Is Carrie okay? What about Carson? What happened to him?" In his agitation, he tried to sit forward, but Rodney put a hand on his shoulder and eased him back down.

"Easy there, Rambo! Sheesh! It's going to take some time for you to recover your strength, so just relax. Everybody's fine." Rodney soothed easily enough, but John could sense he was about to get more distressing news.

Once Rodney was convinced he was situated again, he continued. "Carrie doesn't remember anything about the device she used, only that a transport took her somewhere in the lower levels. I've been going through the logs, but I can't find anything in them to indicate where she might have gone."

"But she's okay?"

"Yes, John, she's fine. It just took a lot out of her, is all." John could sense Rodney was holding something else back. It was in the way his eyes flicked away for just a fraction of a second, but John let it lie for the moment.

"And Carson?"

"He's doing great!" Rodney brightened immediately, seemingly happy to finally have some purely good news to impart. "No lasting effects from the cyanide and he got released back to light duty today, actually. Clean bill of health, and it's all thanks to you."

John waived a hand dismissively, or tried to rather. Fatigue was beginning to settle over every inch of him and he had a feeling he wasn't going to be able to stay awake for much longer.

"Hey, don't shake that off, John. You're quick thinking saved him. He wouldn't be here if it weren't for you and Lorne."

"Tell me more about Carrie," John continued, trying to change the subject. Rodney looked like was about to argue, but gave up with a shrug.

"Like I said before, as far as we can tell, she used an Ancient device to heal you. It was pretty amazing, actually. You were coding and she showed up in the infirmary with glowing skin and..."

"Wait, she was glowing?"

"Yeah! And believe me, I've been searching everywhere for that device. I mean, the possibilities are endless! Can you imagine what having a device like that would do for the expedition, John? And Carrie says the city showed her the way. The city! Carson's testing her for the ATA gene now, but the results aren't in yet. She has to be a carrier. Otherwise, how would she get any ancient device down there to work for her? And if she is a carrier... well, now that just opens up a whole new set of possibilities..."

John could see the cogs in Rodney's mind beginning to turn and knew he needed to get the scientist back on track.

"How'd she do it?" Bullet holes seemed like a pretty big thing to come back from and he worried about what such an act might have cost her. "And where is she?"

"Oh, I imagine she'll be along shortly. She stepped away for a bite to eat a few minutes ago. As to how she managed to heal you, we're still looking into that. I wanted to get started running tests on you right away, but Carson made me wait until you regained consciousness. Something about consent... I don't know what he gets on about sometimes." Rodney muttered the last part a little impishly and John nearly chuckled. Leave it to Rodney to put the search for the truth ahead of common courtesy.

"You can do your tests, Rodney," John offered up amicably and the scientist's face broke out into another grin.

"Really?"

"Yeah, buddy. Really."

"You should have seen it John!" Rodney sat forward looking as wide eyed and excited as his first day on Atlantis. "Whatever device Carrie used gave her some kind of Ancient healing ability. It seemed to draw its power directly from the ATA gene and when hers wasn't enough, it went for anyone else in the room who had it. It even pulled me in, and mine wasn't exactly naturally occurring. It was unlike anything I've ever seen or felt before, and it worked!"

"But you're okay, right?" John asked, sensing a change come over Rodney. "Everyone's okay?"

"We're all fine, John, I promise. Just a little... different?"

"What do you mean, 'different'?"

Rodney looked down at his hands. "It's not a big deal..."

"Come on, Rodney, just spill it." John's strength was waning fast and he didn't have time for the usual run around.

"It's just that... well, some of us lost our ability to connect with the city."

John took what he was hearing and rolled it around in his brain.

Rodney looked back up at him. "Carson thinks it might come back in everyone who had the gene occurring naturally, but I'm afraid I might be SOL until he gets his gene therapy research back up and running again."

"But he will." John offered helpfully. There were worse things in the universe than losing the ability to run ancient tech. "Carson had all that crap figured out years ago. He shouldn't have any problem getting you all back to normal again, right?"

Rodney snorted, "As normal as we've ever been, I suppose."

John ignored the comment. "I'm just glad no one was hurt."

"But someone did get hurt, didn't they, John." Rodney replied, sobering quickly. "You were hurt and we nearly lost you. Do you remember _any_ of it?"

It seemed like a dumb question. Of course he didn't remember any of it, he'd been unconscious. But the truth of the matter was, he did. In some small, nagging way, he knew it was all there, just beyond his grasp, but accessible if he tried hard enough. Question was, would he want to even try?

"I remember bits and pieces, like waking up and choking on something..."

"That would have been your intubation tube. It took us a long time to get you calmed down after that one." Rodney interrupted.

"I remember Carrie being there and hearing you guys talk around me, but other than that, it's just a mess up here." John gestured slightly towards his head.

"Maybe that's for the best," Rodney shrugged.

John didn't argue.

"So... three weeks, huh? Anything else interesting happen while I was out?" John could feel the pull of sleep intensifying, but he fought against it. Carrie would be on her way back soon and he wanted to see her before he fell back under. He wanted to be able to touch her without the threat of bombs or cyanide gas dangling over their heads. He just needed a little help to stay awake.

Rodney spent the next few minutes filling John in on all that had happened while he was unconscious and he was pleased to hear that everything had been pretty much been quiet around Atlantis. There were no more attacks, no further subterfuge, and even the city herself seemed to be at peace around him. Rodney had lost his use of the ATA gene following Carrie's impromptu rescue mission, but John could still feel his as active as ever in his veins. Atlantis reached out to him every so often as if making sure he was still there and he smiled at the sensation each time it came over him. Normally it was something he could ignore, become used to, but today it felt intelligent - persistent - like for once, it wanted to be acknowledge and felt; like a puppy seeking the affection of its master.

John tired to pay attention to what Rodney was telling him, but the door to his room cracking open a while later instantly pulled his focus. There was only one person he wanted to see in that moment, and he tried not to be disappointed when Carson Beckett stepped in and glared over at Rodney reproachfully.

"You we're supposed to come n' find me if he woke up, Rodney McKay!" the doctor accused, eyes narrowing.

"Don't get mad at me! He literally opened his eyes..." Rodney glanced down at his watch, then stopped. "Well, I'm sorry, alright? He started asking me questions!"

Carson shook his head with an irritated sigh and came up to the other side of John's bed. The doctor seemed to want to reach for his hand, but stopped himself at the last second. John almost wanted to tell him to just go ahead and do it. He understood where that compulsion came from, but it would have been just too uncomfortable. They settled instead on a shared look of acknowledgement passed between them in grim silence.

"How're ya feelin', laddie?" Carson asked softly and John tried to answer honestly. He felt okay. There was some pain still, but it was far off and looked to be kept at bay by whatever was dripping from his IV. He felt weak and diminished, but he was alive.

"I'm okay."

He didn't say fine - Carson would have seen right through 'fine' - and the doc nodded.

"Any pain?"

"A little." Carson adjusted the IV with a knowing nod then turned to Rodney.

"I'll need the room for a minute, Rodney," he said, and the physicist instantly went on the defensive.

"Oh come on, Carson. I…"

"Bloody hell, Rodney! I just need to do an exam on the man and I dinnea need you're pryin' eyes leanin' over m' shoulder as I do it!"

John bit back a chuckle. Rodney looked pissed, but deflated a moment later under the stern warning look Carson threw him. He headed for the door in defeat, but John called after him. The scientist paused near the door and looked back.

"Will you bring Carrie with you when you come back?" he asked.

"Of course I will, John," Rodney smiled brightly back, as if the question were a silly one. The door closed behind him with a soft snick a moment later and John collapsed back down further into himself. He was bone tired and his lids wanted nothing more than to fall closed and send him off into dreamland.

"You are going to be the death of me one day, John Sheppard. Ya know that?" Carson sighed when they were finally alone and John forced his eyelids open again.

"That bad, huh?"

"Understatement of the century, my friend."

"Am I okay, Carson?"

The doctor scrutinized the read out of the monitor beside John's bed. "You're vitals are all lookin' good. I dinnea know what that device did to you, per se, but there doesnea appear to be any lingering side effects from what's been done."

"So I'm okay."

"Aye, laddie. You're ok."

"But there's something else, isn't there?" John could tell Carson was skirting around something and that he was frustrated with having to do it. "Is it Carrie?"

"Now tha's a conversation you'll have to have with the lass, John. It isnnea my place to tell."

"Carson..."

"Don't even bother, General," the physician replied with a hand held up. "I willnea break the lady's trust."

"Well, then can you at least promise me she's okay?" John pushed, refusing to give up without a fight.

Carson sighed and relented a bit. "Aye, laddie. That I _can_ do. She's fit as a fiddle and ready for love, as the kids would say."

John was hardly placated (probably wouldn't be until he saw for himself that Carrie was okay) but he let the matter drop for the time being. Carson continued on with his exam and John let his eyes fall closed for just a moment.

He was only going to let them rest for a minute, just linger in the blackness behind his lids for a fraction of a second, but the pull of sleep was evidently too great. He was lulled back under into that healing haze of sleep.

The last thing he was aware of before he slipped away was a soft squeeze on the arm, and a "It's good to have you back, laddie," whispered at his side.

..

\oO0Oo/

..

Carrie Sinclair slipped into the darkened private room just off the Atlantis Infirmary and tiptoed over to one of the empty chairs beside John's bed. Someone had drawn the shades of the window closed and Carson Beckett was snoozing softly in a chair not far from hers. She'd learned from Rodney out in the hall that John had finally regained consciousness, and she'd raced to get here in time to see him before he went under again, but she was apparently too late. He was sleeping peacefully now and she would let him stay that way. It was the best thing for him, and she wouldn't wake him. Their proper reunion could wait a little while longer.

Carrie eased herself into the chair she'd chosen for herself and folded her hands in her lap. She didn't have an "official" chair in this room like she'd had in the main infirmary area. Things had relaxed so drastically around John that she really didn't need it anymore and she cared too much for the people around her now to demand it. The small, select group of acolytes allowed unhindered access to John had become her surrogate family, and she cared for each and every one of them deeply.

Carrie wasn't sure what exactly had happened to her when she'd used the Ancient device to help heal John, but she understood enough to know that she had been connected to some sort of power to do it. It was a power that had been shared and amplified by everyone who could sense and feel the city the same way she could. It had brought them together to save John's life and Carrie knew she would forever feel a kinship with the people that had joined with her that day to make it all possible. Carson had explained a little bit about how the ATA gene worked, but so much had happened over the past several weeks that her mind was still trying to process it all.

One thing was for certain though. It was that first conversation with Dr. Beckett and her subsequent meetings with Colonel Lorne and General Landry that kept her up most nights.

Carrie was carrying around a secret. It was epic and extraordinary and one that explained a lot and gave her better insight into the link she shared with Atlantis and the pull she felt towards John. He was the one she most wanted to tell about it, the one who would help her make the right decisions, and she'd made Dr. Beckett, Colonel Lorne and General Landry all swear not to divulge her secret until she decided what to do with it.

Still, as incredible a thing it was that she'd discovered about herself, Carrie was still struggling with something else, and it was a something she knew she would also need to discuss with John. There was another decision she needed to make, and it was going to be the most difficult one she'd ever made in her life.

Carrie felt like she'd been given a gift, this one chance to change the course of her life, and she was seriously thinking of turning it down.

No, scratch that, she _was_ going to turn it down, because as wonderful a thing galavanting across the universe with John would be, Carrie wasn't free. She had obligations, family back home, and she was responsible for more than just herself, regardless of how strong her pull towards John and Atlantis was.

"Are you alright, love?" A soft, slightly accented voice asked from beside her, and Carrie disengaged herself from her thoughts to look over at Carson.

"I'm alright,"" she smiled. Of all the people she'd met on Atlantis, Carrie liked Dr. Beckett the best. He was kind and genuine and she always felt at peace when she was with him. "Has there been any change?"

"He woke up about an hour or so ago," Carson explained around a yawn, stretching as he did so. "His vitals are still holdin' steady, so no change."

Carrie nodded and they both looked back over to where John lay in his bed, fast asleep. She could hardly believe that he was alive and breathing on his own. It was a complete 180 from his condition mere weeks ago when he'd been so near death and she shuddered as the memories resurfaced to claw at her. She didn't know what, if anything, John would remember about what happened between them, but she prayed it was very little.

Pushing herself away from that particular line of thought, Carrie turned back to Carson.

"Are you still up for that field trip you promised me?" She asked and the doc nodded after a thought.

Carrie hadn't forgotten her visitor's warning on the balcony that night. She knew needed to return whatever "gift" the Ancient device had given her, only she hadn't been able to get a moment alone to do it. Rodney had been hounding her incessantly for information on where she'd found the thing and how she'd activated it, but she'd been feigning memory loss. Something inside was warning her to keep the device a secret, that it was something better better left undiscovered for the time being and she'd experienced enough of Atlantis to know that it was usually a safe bet to go with whatever her gut was telling her. So she'd kept up the charade, that was until Carson came to her with the results of the tests he'd run on her DNA, and everything had changed. She'd gotten him to agree to help her get down to the lower levels undetected so she could return what she had taken, lest something catastrophic happen.

"Aye," Carson was agreeing. "I still don't like it, but I'll help you.

"Thank you," she said genuinely and Carson smiled shyly.

"And what about your other matter, love? Have you given any more thought to that? Will you tell him what it is we found in your DNA tests?"

Carrie thought the question over and answered carefully. "I think so, yes…"

"All of it?"

"I'm going to tell him about me being a carrier, but I don't think he needs to know the rest. John's going to have enough on his plate when he gets back up and running."

"I don't see the harm in lettin' everyone know the whole truth, lass. Unless, of course, you're plannin' on leavin' us."

Carrie looked over at the physician sharply. Sometime she wondered if ATA gene carriers had some innate, yet undiscovered ability to read each other's minds.

"Carson, you and I are the only ones who know right now how big this thing really is. Promise me you wont tell, because its going to be hard enough as it is for me to leave."

"You have my word, love. I'll not tell a soul. But are you sure you willnea reconsider? It's an amazing thing you're being offered here, seems a shame to waste it."

"It wouldn't be forever. I'd come back, eventually."

"Aye, I understand that fair enough, lass. It's him that will need convincing." Carson nodded towards John and Carrie sighed. Yeah, that was going to be difficult.

"I don't know how to tell him, Carson."

"These things are never easy, love," Carson replied, reaching over to pat her knee before rising from his chair on creaking joints. "Just don't wait too long or it will only get harder."

Carrie tried to find a flaw in that logic, but there was none to exploit.

The doctor was right.

..

\oO0Oo/

..

It was nearing dusk the next time John awoke from sleep. His room was painted in that violent orange of sunset and it was illuminating a figure seated in a chair near his bed. Her head was bent over a book. She hadn't looked up just yet, having obviously not heard him stir, and John took a moment to just drink in the sight of her.

Carrie looked resplendent in the Lantian filtered light and he had half a mind to pull himself out of bed, gather her up in his arms and kiss the shit out of her. He knew it would be dumb (and not just a bit clichéd) but he couldn't help what he felt. For the past 10 years he'd been holding back with her, and it felt good to let those feelings out for once. Something fluttered in his chest at the thought, and John looked down at the pattered gown he wore.

Hospital fashion was still non-existent, he thought to himself with an internal grumble, and he would have to remember to ask if he could change into sweats. His wounds had apparently healed, if Rodney was to believed, so he didn't see the harm in wearing something a little more his style.

John shifted in bed to get a little more comfortable and when he glanced up again, Carrie was looking over at him. Her eyes had always reminded him of the sea before a storm. They changed color sometimes, depending on what she wore, and today they were as blue-green as sea foam. They widened slightly when their sightlines converged and before John even knew what was happening, his face had been captured between her hands and he was being drawn in for a kiss.

Carrie tasted like the past and the future all rolled into one. She smelled like home and felt like an anchor securing him more securely to the shore. He hadn't realized how very much he'd missed her until that exact moment and he reached up to tangle his fingers in her hair, ignoring the slight twinge of pain that accompanied the movement.

John had made a lot of mistakes in his life, but none so egregious as his decision to leave her behind in Blue River. He had consigned himself to never seeing this woman again that day he'd left, but fate, it would seem, had other plans. And now that he had her back in his arms again, he didn't know how he would ever let her go. This simple woman, this half his age, blond haired waitress, had saved his life. She'd done the impossible (and in more ways that one) and he knew then that it had been more than just coincidence that had brought them together in that tiny little backwater town in Wisconsin.

John had gone there to disappear, but had managed to be found somehow managed instead.

When Carrie pulled away from the kiss a few moments later, they didn't move their hands. There was something about the connection that felt right and familiar and John was reluctant to let it go. He searched her face for some reason behind the feeling, and caught an errant tear with a fingertip as it cut a path down her cheek.

"If you _ever_ do that to me again, John Sheppard, I'll kill you myself," she half choked, half laughed before dropping her hands away from his face.

"What, kiss you?" John said around a crooked smile. "Because I'm pretty sure you were the one who started that last one, Ms. Sinclair."

Carrie smirked slightly. "You know damn well what I mean. Try to die on me like that again, and I'll have your balls."

"Okay… fair enough."

Carrie settled herself down onto the bed beside John's legs and laced their fingers together. "That was a close one, Johnny Boy.."

John nodded. "Are you okay?"

"Perfectly fine," she replied, but she's said it a little too brightly. John reached up to push an errant lock of hair back behind her ear and she sighed.

"I know there's something going on with you, Carrie," he pushed. "Why wont you just tell me what it is?"

Uncertainty seemed to pass over her face but he wasn't about to let her get out of this one.

"I was going to wait to do this until you were a little stronger."

"I'm feeling pretty good now. You can tell me. Whatever it is, it can't be worse than what we just went through." John could tell Carrie had been hoping he'd let it lie, but John was done with secrets.

Carrie looked him over for a minute as if trying to decide if he really was up for it, or just putting on a show. Apparently she settled on the former, because she continued on a moment later.

"Well, I guess the first thing you should know is that they offered to let me join the expedition."

"Really?" He was a little relieved to hear it, to be honest. John had been anticipating a hard fight to get the SGC to allow Carrie to come with them to Pegasus. Now he could scratch that particular task off his to-do list.

Carrie seemed to be relieved by how he was taking the news. "So you'd be okay with that?"

"Are you kidding?" John replied trying to sit forward but still to weak to do so. "Of course I am. Did they give you an idea of what you'd be doing?"

"Whatever it is you ATA gene carriers do around here, I guess." Carrie shrugged.

"Oh yeah?" So she was a gene carrier. Good for her.

"Yeah." She said simply, but didn't go on.

"Well, you're going to take it, right?" He'd expected to see her face light up, but it remained stormy and impassive.

"That's where things kind of get complicated..."

"Complicated, huh?" John didn't like where this was headed.

Carrie sighed and looked back over at him. "John, there is nothing I would love more than to join the Atlantis expedition and go to Pegasus with you, but I have my Aunt Eileen to think about. I'm all the family she has left in this world, and I can't just leave a 90 year old woman alone to fend for herself."

"They could make arrangement for her," John started to argue. "I'm sure..."

But Carrie was already shaking her head.

"I can't do that to her. Even if I gated back to Earth as often as possible, it still wouldn't be enough. I need to be there with her, John, especially now."

John opened his mouth to protest, but found that he just couldn't. He understood what she was saying, had seen first hand the love Carrie had for her Aunt Eileen. It wouldn't be fair to ask her to leave the woman behind, as much as the thought of losing Carrie again pained him.

"Hey," Carrie said quietly, cupping his cheek with a hand and making him look back over at her when he turned away slightly. "It wouldn't be goodbye forever, just goodbye for a little while."

John nodded. He didn't like it, but he nodded. In fact, he was kind of disappointed with himself for the thoughts that popped into his brain unintentionally, the ones wondering how much longer a 90 year old woman could possibly live.

Shit.

"John, can I ask you something?" Carrie interrupted his thoughts and he nodded, happy for a distraction. "Rodney had this photo pinned up in his lab. I was wondering if you could tell me who the woman in the photograph is."

Carrie pulled a creased old photograph from the back pocket of her jeans and handed it over to John. He took it from her carefully and immediately recognized the image. It was a duplicate of one that probably still sat on his nightstand back in Cheyenne; one he'd given Rodney long ago when the scientist had been complaining about how he could never get anyone to pose for a descent picture.

It was the one taken of the team before the Stargate after a mission, and there was only one woman in it.

"That's Teyla. We lost her right around the same time the Wraith attacked Earth."

"Teyla," Carrie repeated, and took the photograph from John when he handed it back.

"Yep, and the guy with his arm around her is Ronon." John swallowed thickly. "We lost him, too."

It was hard for him to say their names, harder still to revisit their memories, but he did it anyways. Carrie deserved honesty, especially after what John had put her through with Sean Fitzpatrick.

"I met her." Carrie said suddenly and without warning, her eyes still on the photo.

"Who? Teyla?" John asked, surprised.

"Yeah. When you were dying, she came to me in what I think was some kind of hallucination. She was the one who told me about the device and how the city would show me where it was, if I let her."

"For real?"

Carrie nodded. "I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried. She told me she could see why you loved me so much, and that I should tell you she said so after we got you through all of this..."

"Sounds like something Teyla would say."

The notion seemed crazy, and yet crazy was any normal day on Atlantis.

"She also told me that I'm supposed to tell someone she loves them," Carrie continued. "Only I don't think she was talking about you."

"Then she probably meant Torren," John offered with a shrug

"Torren?"

"TJ, he's her son," John explained. "Hopefully you'll get to meet him if you stick around long enough. He..."

"Oh I've met TJ, John," Carrie interrupted.

Okay, he hadn't been expecting that one. It must have showed on his face because Carrie continued quickly.

"He's here, John. Landry brought him back with him from New York. He's been here for weeks."

"No shit!" John exclaimed, suddenly excited. "Where is he? Can I see him?"

"Of course you can!" Carrie replied, grinning and getting up from her seat on the bed beside him. She poked her head out into the hall and a few moments later, a tall, lanky kid (looking so much younger than his 19 years) walked into the room.

"My god," John muttered before he could hold it back. "You look just like her, kid."

TJ was the spitting image of his mother. Her eyes stared back at John through his youthful face. His mouth curved up in that same way hers always had when she smiled. He even moved in a similar way and it was so surreal, John couldn't help but grin from ear to ear as they shook hands.

"Glad to see you're doing better, Sir." TJ intoned as he straightened up after their greeting.

"You can save the formalities for missions, kid. Until Atlantis takes off, I'm just John... or Sheppard if you feel like it."

"Or how about Uncle John?" Carrie piped in from the rear and TJ's face colored slightly as he looked away, embarrassed.

"Uncle John?" John questioned and Carrie threw her head back in a laugh.

"It's just what my Pops always used to call you when I was growing up," TJ answered sheepishly. "I called you that one night and now _she_ won't leave me alone about it." He tilted his head in Carrie's direction good-naturedly and John smiled again. He could tell the two were well on their way to becoming friends, and the thought warmed him. Everything was finally falling into place... the only thing out of joint was the fact that Carrie wouldn't be coming to Atlantis with them.

He was going to have to say goodbye to her soon, and that thought nearly undid the good mood he'd managed to slide into.

"Alright kid," John said, refusing to let dark thoughts spoil his first meeting with this pseudo nephew of his. "Out with it. I want to know everything. And the more ammunition you give me to use against your father, the more points you'll earn."

TJ ginned at that and settled himself into a chair to start in on his story. They were joined a little while later by Rodney, and then by Carson. Even Lorne showed up finally, standing in the doorway to listen as they all laughed at some off-color remark Carrie had interjected into the conversation. John met Lorne's eyes over the heads of the gathered group, and indicated with his head that the Colonel should join them. He also put something else behind his eyes, and he hoped Evan understood it.

It was a look of thanks for taking care of everyone while John had been so out of it. It was an acknowledgment for saving his life in the cabin and keeping Atlantis afloat while everything else went to shit around them. Lorne accepted the look with a bashful nod before taking an empty chair near Rodney. The scientist was mid-story, having naturally taken over the proceedings with overdramatic tales of his own heroics, but paused to clap Lorne on the shoulder in greeting.

It was perfect, John realized suddenly, and he let his eyes linger over each smiling face in turn.

They were all of them whole and alive and ready to embark on the next great adventure. The universe had somehow managed to stitch the ragged and tattered edges of their individual lives back together to form something complete. It was woven in place with the memories of the past, made strong by the threads of those they'd lost along the way, and John no longer worried about those seams pulling apart again. Through everything fate had thrown at them, they'd managed to persevere, and even though he never would have thought it possible, John finally had his family back.

It was new and it was different, but it was his.

With sudden clarity he realized he had no more "what if" moments, just endless possibilities stretching out ahead of him.

And as the sun sank outside his window and Atlantis rumbled happily beneath them, John Sheppard knew, for the first time in twenty years, that he had finally found that elusive and precious thing called Home.

 

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See next chapter for a Post-Credits Scene of sorts


	26. Epilogue (Or as I've affectionately named it: A Post-Credits Scene)

John Sheppard stood on the platform above the Stargate and watched as the members of his expedition prepared the space for departure. The Gateroom floor was littered with boxes and the normal detritus of an impending mission. In just two days time they would embark for the Pegasus galaxy and John thought back on everything it had taken for them just to get to this moment: sabotage, men with guns, murder, conspiracy... all of it meant to malign what they were hoping to accomplish here, but only managing to make their victory over all that adversity more sweet.

John let his eyes linger over the Stargate and the pull of old memories made his chest ache for a moment. Some of what had happened to him after he'd been shot had come back. Most of it had remained a jumbled mess inside his mind, but looking at the Stargate always managed to bring what little he could remember back up to the surface.

He missed Carrie then. Her presence in Atlantis had been both a comfort and a hidden source of strength and their parting had been a hard one.

It had happened about a month ago, when the call back to Blue River had grown too strong for her to ignore any longer. She'd been different in those short days prior to saying goodbye, and John couldn't help but wonder if he perhaps wasn't the only one it hurt her to leave behind. She'd certainly made friends in the city. It wasn't a small crowd that had gathered to see her off and make her promise to come back soon.

John kept having to tell himself that it wasn't forever; that someday soon she would find her way back to this place and to him. He was always going to ache for her, but he couldn't make her stay. Carrie had been right, Eileen needed her, and he would respect the decisions she'd made.

Pulling himself away from the memories of their last moments together and, finally satisfied that everything was going smoothly on the floor below, John made his way back to his office on a sigh. There were plenty of memories waiting for him there in that room, plenty of distractions to keep him from thinking of Carrie anymore and he let his mind play through them all as he paused in the doorway: Elizabeth, Woolsey, that time he'd put his fist through the very door he now stood in. It was the good mixed with the bad. The memories that hurt, mingling in with the ones that made him smile. He stood in the doorway for a while, taking them in one by one, unable to step through until he catalogued them all and put them in their rightful places.

"General Sheppard?" A tentative voice called from behind him, immeasurable moments later and John turned and found a young corporal at his heel.

"Yes?"

"There's call for you, sir," the young woman smiled a little awkwardly. "I believe it's Colonel Asbury on the Daedalus."

"Okay, thanks," John smiled back. Some of the younger enlisted still seemed afraid of him, and it amused him for some reason. "Will you put him through to my office?"

The Corporal nodded and scurried off and John finally made his way into the room. Three months ago the SGC had sent Asbury on ahead of the expedition to check on the conditions of the Pegasus galaxy, and John had been eagerly awaiting this call. It was the one that could make or break the expedition and he settled in behind his desk with trepidation.

"Brigadier General Sheppard," the Colonel Asbury intoned with a courteous nod as his face materialized on screen.

"Andy, it's good to hear from you."

"You too, sir. How are things back home?"

"Oh you know, same old, some old."

"Dr. McKay still giving you grief?"

"When isn't he?" John replied and both men laughed. "I assume you have some news for me?" The small talk was nice and all, but John wasn't in the mood.

"Well actually, Sir," Asbury started, running a hand across his chin, "we ran into something out here I thought you'd want to hear about immediately."

John's stomach did a summersault in his gut. He'd always known there was a chance the reconnaissance mission would find something bad, he just hadn't allowed himself to think it would actually happen.

Asbury turned his head and addressed someone off screen. "Pull it up."

The screen before John flickered and in an instant he was staring at a face he'd never expected to see again. Anger boiled instantly in his already agitated stomach, pushing acid up into the back of his throat. His hands balled into fists and he had to resist the urge to put one of those fists through the wall behind him.

"Todd."

He said the Wraith's name through teeth clenched so hard together, they hurt. The Wraith looked exactly as John remembered him, and the bastard still managed to elicit the same rage and need for revenge in John that he had 20 years ago.

"He contacted us as soon as we came out of hyperspace around the planet, Sir," Asbury went on, reappearing on screen. "He claims his is the only Hive left, but we have no way of confirming that. Our scout ships didn't find anything, so there's a chance he's telling the truth."

"Don't you believe a single word that son of a bitch tells you, Colonel Asbury, and that's an order."

"Duly noted Sir, but that's not all."

John should have figured. He pinched the bridge of his nose and indicated for Asbury to continue.

"He wasn't alone when he contacted us, Sir. There was someone with him, a girl he claims came from Earth."

"Earth?" John repeated incredulously. "How is _that_ possible?"

"Well, he claims one Hive got away, but that it crash landed on one of the planets on outskirts of the galaxy. He says some of our people survived and that he saved them."

"For dinner, you mean," John snorted mirthlessly.

"He claims he doesn't do that anymore, sir."

"Yeah, I'm sure he does," John replied with a roll of the eyes. "Listen, do we have any idea who this girl with him might be?"

"Well, actually Sir, yes, we do." Asbury said, a little hesitantly.

"Well?"

Asbury looked uncomfortable. "She says her name is Madison Miller, Sir."

Madison Miller, why did that name sound so familiar... then it hit him.

"Now just wait one damn minute here, son!" John cried, flabbergasted by what he was hearing and hardly able to believe it. "Are you seriously saying what I think it is you're saying?"

"Affirmative, Sir," the Colonel nodded solemnly. "The girl claims to be Dr. McKay's niece...

and she says she's not alone."

...this story will continue on in "The Secret Language of Grief, Book Two"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big, huge thank you to everyone who reviewed, favorited, alerted and supported this little story. I literally could never have done it if not for your unwavering loyalty and support. In the beginning, this was meant to be nothing more than a quick one-shot, a fleeting look into an Alternate universe where our Hero's didn't get the happy ending they deserved. It turned into so much more and I'm glad you chose to share the journey with me. I'm planning a sequel to this and hope to start publishing it sometime later this year. You all have been a beautiful audience and thanks again for the support.
> 
> Please don't forget to leave me your final thoughts in a review. They are seriously food for my soul and only make me want to write more :)
> 
> As always, keep writing and never stop dreaming!
> 
> -water4willows


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